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THOUGH   LIFE   US  DO  PART 
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THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 


COME!    I  CAN'T  HAVE  YOU  STANDING  HERE 


THOUGH  LIFE 
US  DO  PART 

BY 

ELIZABETH  STUART  PHELPS 


WITH  A  FRONTISPIECE   BY 
CLARENCE  F.  UNDERWOOD 


BOSTON    AND    NEW  YORK 

HOUGHTON    MIFFLIN    COMPANY 

(3Tt)e  fftfcergi&e  ptt$$  Cambridge 

1908 


COPYRIGHT,  I907   AND   1908,   BY  THE  CROWELL  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

COPYRIGHT,   1908,   BY   ELIZABETH  STUART  PHELPS  WARD 

ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED 

Published  September  igo8 


roUrtlH  aMPRESSiOM 


THOUGH  LIFE  US  DO  PART 


CHAPTER   I 

As  the  dog-cart  rolled  slowly  by,  a  cloud  of  dust 
arose  like  a  dry  fog,  and  smothered  the  porch 
and  the  ell  where  the  sign  hung.  It  was  a  squash- 
colored  house,  with  chocolate  trimmings.  It  was 
known  among  the  summer  people  as  the  choco- 
late eclair. 

"  It  stands  tew  near  the  road,"  said  Solomon 
Hops.  "  It  had  n't  orter,  an'  it  did  n't  useter.  It 's 
them  dudes  done  it.  They  ride  onreasonable.  If 
they  was  to  go  of  an  errand  to  the  store,  or  meet 
the  men  folks  to  the  deepot,  or  take  the  fambly  to 
meetin'  like  decent  neighbors  orter  had  —  but  here 
they  be  at  it  constant  an'  continual,  same  as  per- 
formin'  monkeys  at  a  circus.  It 's  like  as  they  'd 
got  to  keep  a-goin'  or  lose  their  job.  'T  ain't 
natur',"  added  Solomon  Hops,  severely.  "  An' 
when  you  've  said  a  thing  ain't  natur',  you  've 
done  with  the  subjec'.    Blank  them  dudes !  " 

Solomon  Hops  was  a  "  native."  He  was  a  lucky 
native,  —  past  and  present  owner  of  shore  acres 
sold,  and  shore  acres  unsold,  on  a  scale  so  colos- 

M22131 


THOUGH   LIFE    US   DO    PART 


sal  as  to  make  him  a  magnate  in  Balsam  Groves. 
Np  real-estate  owner  on  the  Cape  could  compete 
with  his  record.  His  price  per  foot  was  something 
spoken  of  with  bated  breath  by  guests  from  New- 
port entertained  in  palace  "  cottages  "  on  the  water 
front.  He  had  realized  the  chimerical  for  back 
lots,  and  clutched  the  impossible  for  cranberry 
swamps.  In  his  hands  extortion  had  become  as 
subtle  as  a  Borgian  poison.  He  had  made  a  for- 
tune out  of  the  summer  people,  and  was  clearly 
ordained  to  make  several  more  before  he  was  done 
with  them.  But  he  said  "  Blank  them  dudes  !  " 
with  a  fervor  which  one  could  call  nothing  less 
than  religious.  He  spoke  of  them  scornfully,  hated 
them  secretly,  received  them  with  cold  indiffer- 
ence when  they  came  in  May,  and  missed  them 
candidly  when  they  had  left  in  November.  He 
felt  towards  them  the  mingled  emotions  of  a  man 
who  has  his  social  superiors  at  a  disadvantage. 
In  his  heart  he  was  consumed  with  a  curiosity 
about  them  which  he  never  admitted  to  his  own 
subconsciousness.  He  would  rather  have  come 
down  a  thousand  on  his  best  lot. 

"  Nannie  !  "  called  Solomon  Hops,  "  run  an'  see 
who  was  in  that  yaller  tip-cart  before  it  gits  clean 
out  o'  sight.  I  kinder  thought  it  was  that  one  on 
'em  I  don't  disfavor  so  much,  —  the  little  gentle 
one.    Looked  like  our  doctor  along  of  her;  he's 

2 


THOUGH   LIFE  US   DO    PART 

been  out  the  office  quite  a  spell.  But  I  could  n't 
see  through  the  passel  o'  dust  they  kicked  up." 

Nannie  ran  out  obediently.  She  was  a  pretty 
village  girl,  with  her  father's  profile  (Solomon's 
features  were  quite  regular)  and  her  mother's  eyes. 
Her  mother  was  dead.  Nannie  was  very  well 
dressed;  her  white  blouse  was  of  a  fine  material, 
and  her  gray  cloth  skirt  fashionably  cut  and  hung. 
Her  figure  was  light  and  lithe,  and  swayed  like  a 
sapling  as  she  stood  with  hand  lifted  to  her  eyes 
to  watch  the  slowly  moving  but  now  vanishing 
dog-cart. 

"Yes,  father,"  said  Nannie,  "that's  her.  It's 
Miss  Sterling.  She  has  n't  got  the  coachman.  Dr. 
Dane  's  driving.  They  're  going  to  the  Country 
Club.  They  don't  seem  to  be  in  any  particular 
hurry.  I  'm  afraid  he  won't  get  back  to  supper. 
That  dog  with  the  white  shirt  front  is  running 
after  her.  She  's  got  a  new  parasol.  It  s  white, 
trimmed  with  plain  chiffon  —  not  any  lace.  She  's 
got  on  her  white  organdie.  Kathleen  told  one  of 
the  girls  she  had  seven  white  dresses,  and  not  a 
pique  among  them." 

Heavy  wheels  rolling  rapidly  thundered  up  on 
the  State  Road  and  came  to  an  abrupt  lurch  in 
front  of  Solomon  Hops's  house. 

A  handsome  young  fellow,  with  an  irresponsible 
face,  drove  the  caterer's  cart,  wThich  was  piled  with 

3 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO    PART 

ices  and  boxes  of  the  decorated  cakes  whose  famil- 
iar countenances  have  such  a  friendly  air  at  after- 
noon teas. 

"That  George?"  asked  Solomon,  amiably;  he 
did  not  complain  of  George's  dust,  but  sat  on  the 
porch  and  choked  in  it,  with  malice  to  none. 
George  was  not  a  dude.  He  owned  his  business, 
which,  however  experimental,  was  an  importation 
from  town  for  the  summer  months,  and  acquired  a 
glamour  from  this  fact.  George  had  men  enough, 
but  he  was  apt  to  do  his  own  driving  when  his  or- 
ders led  him  past  Solomon  Hops's  house.  Nannie, 
blushing  prettily,  retreated  towards  her  father.  But 
the  imported  caterer  called  her  back. 

"  I  say,  Nan ! "  George  shook  his  whip  at  her 
with  a  masculine  imperiousness,  which,  it  seemed, 
the  girl  did  not  resent.  Some  of  the  sweetest 
women  are  made  that  way. 

"  Oh,  go  along  an'  talk  with  George  if  he  wants 
ye,"  said  Solomon  Hops.  And  Nannie  went.  Her 
father  tipped  his  chair  back,  and  watched  her,  with 
a  gentle  expression  touched  by  an  almost  child- 
like trust.  Nannie  was  the  belle  and  heiress  of  the 
winter  people.  Solomon  looked  at  her  with  a  pride 
which  ran  its  roots  deeper  than  the  grip  of  the 
oldest  oak  that  struck  below  the  biggest  boulder 
on  his  most  extortionate  piece  of  woodland.  He 
who  would  have  euchred  the  British  Ambassador 

4 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

out  of  a  fifty-thousand-dollar  check  for  a  five-hun- 
dred-dollar lot  was  a  lamb  and  a  rustic  in  the  pre- 
sence of  this  girl.  Solomon  had  pronounced  views 
of  human  society;  these  had  been  acquired  in  Bal- 
sam Groves.  On  divine  topics  he  was  vague,  not 
feeling  sufficiently  familiar  with  the  evidence.  But 
Nannie  he  understood.  He  had  all  the  confidence 
in  Nannie  that  he  had  lost  in  himself  and  his  race. 
His  consciousness  that  he  was  not  intimate  with 
his  Creator,  and  not  received  at  the  British  Am- 
bassador's, gave  him  no  concern  whatever.  He  had 
Nannie. 

"Nannie  is  natur',"  thought  Solomon  Hops; 
"  an'  when  you  Ve  said  a  thing  's  natur',  you  've 
opened  a  great  subjec'." 

"Say!  Mr.  Hops!"  the  caterer  called  from  the 
cart.  "  The  trolley  road  from  Balsam  's  goin' 
through.  Next  season  it  '11  be  buzzin'  all  over  the 
Cape  in  spite  of  em." 

This  was  a  tremendous  piece  of  local  news, — 
the  outcome  of  several  years'  conflict  between  the 
village  and  the  visitors;  and  the  two  men,  who 
made  their  living  out  of  the  summer  people,  ex- 
ulted instinctively  in  the  disappointment  of  their 
customers.  Solomon  Hops  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"  Blank  them  dudes ! "  he  cried.  "  I  'm  goll- 
darned  glad  they  're  beat !  " 

George  leaned  out  of  his  wagon.  His  black  eyes 

5 


THOUGH   LIFE    US   DO    PART 

wandered  over  Nannie's  blushing  face.  "  Folks 
say  it  's  goin'  to  connect  as  far 's  Sandasket.  You 
'n'  me  we  '11  take  a  trip  around  country  some 
day." 

"  I  'm   goll-darned   glad  !  "   repeated    Solomon 
Hops. 


On  the  piazzas  of  the  Country  Club  it  was  quite 
cool,  and  invited  the  hot  and  tired  golfers  as  they 
came  up  from  the  links.  The  ocean  could  not  be 
seen  from  the  clubhouse,  but  his  breath  was  salt 
on  the  cheek,  and  the  rhythm  of  his  mighty  respir- 
ation was  distinct  to  the  ear.  A  generous  stretch 
of  fair  meadows,  redeemed  to  the  brassie,  and  care- 
fully pruned  of  natural  hazards,  appealed  softly  to 
the  eye.  On  the  meadows  the  June  afternoon  was 
beginning  to  kneel.  The  light  slanted  low.  The 
closely  cut  grass  had  taken  on  the  hues  belonging 
only  to  the  month  and  to  the  hour ;  and  the  leaves 
of  such  trees  as  the  axe  of  the  green-keeper  had 
spared  quivered  under  lances  of  red-gold  from 
what  promised  to  be  a  gorgeous  west.  The  advan- 
cing sunset  prepared  itself  to  come  richly  capari- 
soned, like  an  Oriental  army. 

On  the  eastern  piazza  a  lady,  not  young  and 
not  a  golfer,  sat  chatting  with  that  kind  of  smart- 
ness which  passes  for  conversation  among  those  in- 

6 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO    PART 

capable  of  or  unaccustomed  to  it.  Her  face,  which 
still  retained  the  consciousness  of  beauty,  was 
crossed  with  inscrutable  purposes,  —  it  was  that 
of  a  Caucasian  sphinx.  In  a  group  of  people,  all  of 
them  persons  of  ease,  and  many  of  them  people  of 
fortune,  she  carried  the  unmistakable  indications 
of  great  wealth.  Many  young  men  and  a  few  young 
girls  surrounded  her.  She  possessed  a  husband, 
but  he  might  be  said  to  belong  to  the  choir  invisi- 
ble, being  useful  chiefly  as  chancellor  of  the  ex- 
chequer and  as  a  figure-head  at  entertainments  — 
never  inconvenient  or  obtrusive.  She  was  on  ex- 
cellent terms  with  him,  and  he  was  said  to  admire 
her.  Her  name  was  Marriot,  Mrs.  Douce  Marriot. 
She  was  usually  called  by  her  own,  not  her  hus- 
band's name,  and  was  spoken  of  in  a  certain  class 
of  clubs  as  The  Deuce. 

A  man  not  over  thirty-six,  but  looking  much 
older,  plainly  not  a  dilettante,  and  seeming  some- 
thing foreign  to  the  group,  made  one  of  Mrs.  Mar- 
riot's  court  on  the  eastern  piazza.  He  was  in  a 
golfing  costume,  and  lounged  on  the  piazza  rail 
gracefully ;  he  twirled  a  cocktail  glass  between  his 
fingers  as  he  talked ;  the  glass  was  but  half  emp- 
tied. Mrs.  Marriot,  in  her  sprightly  moments, 
called  him  The  Inquisitor.  She  was  not  afraid  to 
call  anybody  anything.  His  name  was  Frost ;  he 
was  a  rising  young  physiologist,  much  respected 

7 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO    PART 

in  his  university.  He  had  a  face  which  would  have 
puzzled  any  physiognomist  not  familiar  with  the 
profession  which  has,  so  far  as  is  known,  created  the 
type.  It  was  heavily  and  mysteriously  marked, — 
lined  like  the  countenance  of  a  very  old  man. 
Deep  furrows  contracted  the  flesh  of  his  forehead 
and  cheeks;  and  the  outlines  of  his  lips  and  nos- 
trils ran  into  unexpected  depressions,  like  defeated 
soldiers  entrapped  in  a  sunken  road.  One  would 
have  found  it  impossible  to  say  what  this  man  had 
been  meant  to  be,  but  there  could  be  no  mistake 
about  the  thing  he  had  become. 

"  It  is  a  great  sacrifice  to  make  for  science," 
Mrs.  Marriot  was  saying  softly.  Douce  Marriot 
was  never  known  to  disagree  with  a  man  upon  his 
convictions  or  ambitions.  To  taunt  him  to  exas- 
peration for  a  trifle,  madden  him  deftly  for  a  whim, 
defy  him  dangerously  for  an  experiment,  of  course 
was  legitimate  and  usually  successful  warfare.  But 
there  is  a  line  where  men  must  not  be  differed 
from  by  a  woman  on  peril  of  her  charms,  and  Mrs. 
Marriot  never  crossed  that  line. 

"  I  was  going  to  say,"  added  the  lady,  holding 
out  her  glass  to  be  refilled,  "that  it  is  a  great  sacri- 
fice to  make  for  a  little  science.  Does  n't  it  ever 
strike  you  as  disproportionate  ?  Not  that  I  would 
even  seem  to  question  the  sacredness  of  your 
motives." 

8 


THOUGH   LIFE    US   DO   PART 

"  Oh,  my  dear  Mrs.  Marriot,  when  you  consider 
the  X  value  of  human  life, —  the  immense  results 
of  our  experiments,  —  the  tremendous  possibilities 
of  the  future,  —  the  —  the  —  " 

The  vivisector  had  flashed  at  the  spark  in  her 
retort,  struck  just  in  time  to  save  his  attention,  for 
his  concentration  on  her  personality  had  begun  to 
waver ;  he  was  now  started  on  an  animated  pre- 
sentation of  the  subject  of  antitoxin,  when  his  eye 
caught  the  glint  of  a  girl's  white  dress  showing 
through  the  leaves  of  the  thickly  wooded  avenue, 
yet  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away.  The  girl  was  in  a 
dog-cart,  and  advanced  but  slowly  towards  the  club- 
house. A  figure  not  very  familiar  to  the  Country 
Club  sat  beside  her  and  held  the  reins. 

Dr.  Frost  did  not  finish  what  he  was  saying. 
He  got  to  his  feet,  and  remained  silent,  with  the 
glass  in  his  fingers,  so  standing  absently  before 
Mrs.  Marriot,  whom  he  could  not  decently  desert 
for  no  visible  reason.  He  looked  suddenly  fagged 
and  annoyed,  and  turned  his  old-young  face  to- 
wards the  west,  whose  strengthening  color  struck 
it  sharply. 

"  Good  heavens  !  "  cried  Douce  Marriot,  with  a 
little  movement  of  dismay.  "  What  a  sky !  Your 
face  is  — "  She  broke  her  sentence.  The  young 
surgeon,  in  the  strange  color  of  a  sky  piled  with 
heavy  clouds,  from  under  which  the  light  smote 

9 


THOUGH   LIFE    US   DO   PART 

powerfully,  stood  painted  blood-red  as  a  butcher, 
from  brow  to  chin. 

"  How  becoming  these  strange  atmospheric 
effects  are  to  a  man  !  "  said  Mrs.  Marriot,  caress- 
ingly, just  in  time  to  save  herself. 

Spots  of  green,  of  gray,  of  white,  of  scarlet,  mov- 
ing on  the  map  of  the  links,  the  players  came  up. 
Number  nine  was  at  its  apotheosis.  Talk  of 
strokes  and  brassies,  putting  and  foozling,  driving 
and  topping,  could  be  heard  from  a  long  distance, 
—  the  aggressive  tones  of  the  young  women  out- 
ranging the  voices  of  the  men.  By  twos  and  threes, 
by  quartettes  and  clusters,  the  golfers  began  to 
close  in  upon  the  piazzas ;  tired  and  healthy,  noisy 
and  happy,  —  the  fortunate  youth  of  a  fortunate 
class  and  a  fortunate  shore.  The  athletic  girl  was 
so  much  in  the  foreground  that  she  smote  the 
athletic  man  into  a  dim  perspective.  Golf,  like 
death  or  hunger,  is  a  leveler;  and  people  who  did 
not  meet  in  the  same  drawing-room  might  tee 
off  into  the  same  bunker.  Socially  ranked,  these 
women  were  all  ladies,  for  the  Balsam  Country 
Club  belonged  to  those  organizations  which,  with- 
out an  apparent  consciousness  of  barriers,  the  more 
adroitly  preserve  them ;  like  the  barbed-wire  fences 
set  within  a  foot  of  boundary  lines  in  deference 
to  the  law.    But,  for  whatever  reason,  these  milder 

10 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO    PART 

figures  were  elbowed  out  of  the  picture  by  the 
true  golf  girl. 

Her  elbows  were  bare.  Her  sleeves  were  rolled 
to  her  shoulder.  Her  blouse,  open  at  the  throat 
and  below  it,  was  finished  by  a  man's  four-in-hand 
necktie,  with  its  knot  slipped  far  down.  She  wore 
no  hat.  Her  hair,  thoroughly  tousled,  blew  into 
her  eyes  and  strayed  in  her  neck.  Her  arms  were 
more  masculine  than  those  of  most  of  the  men  of 
her  own  class,  and  as  brown  as  a  gardener's.  Her 
face  had  the  hue  of  a  Grand-banker's  in  the  fore- 
castle at  the  end  of  a  summer's  voyage.  Her  voice 
and  laughter  matched  her  face  and  arms.  Her 
movements  and  gestures  were  masculine ;  and  she 
had  the  air  of  studying  to  make  them  more  so. 
She  mi^ht  have  been  taken  for  rather  a  small  man 
in  petticoats  —  and  short  petticoats  at  that.  As 
the  girls  tramped  noisily  up  the  piazza  steps,  Mrs. 
Marriot  surveyed  them  with  a  curious  smile. 

"  It  spoils  the  figure,"  she  observed  in  an  under- 
tone. "  I  don't  regret  it."  She  was  too  old  to  play 
golf ;  not  too  old  (the  more  was  the  marvel)  for 
other  less  wholesome,  less  innocent  games.  She 
and  the  golf  girls  took  hold  of  the  ancient  and 
royal  sport  called  life  at  two  extremes. 

"  Come  here,  Mab  Miller !  "  cried  Mrs.  Marriot. 
Mab  Miller  came.  She  was  the  champion  golf  girl, 
and  looked  it,  every  masculine  inch  of  her,  from 

ii 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO    PART 


her  bare  head  to  her  broad  foot.  Striding  across 
the  piazza,  she  sat  down  on  the  rail ;  one  hand 
rested  on  her  hip,  and  her  bare  elbow  protruded 
at  a  sharp  angle. 

"I  want  to  present  you  — "  began  Mrs.  Marriot. 
She  looked  about  for  Dr.  Frost  just  in  time  to 
recall  him  from  an  obvious  retreat.  The  young 
man  suffered  the  introduction  without  enthusiasm, 
yet  not  without  a  certain  interest  which  might  be 
called  scientific  curiosity. 

Mab  Miller  spoke  in  a  contralto  verging  on  the 
bass,  and  held  her  hand  straight  out  like  a  man. 
The  surgeon's  eye  traveled  leisurely  up  and  down 
the  golf  girl's  brown  arm. 

"  Fine  deltoid,"  he  thought.  "  How  beautifully 
it  would  demonstrate  !  " 

"  I  want  a  gin  fizz,"  observed  Miss  Miller.  Dr. 
Frost  bowed,  and  without  comment  ordered  the 
nectar  required  by  this  modern  Hebe.  But  the 
champion  did  not  call  for  more  than  one  gin  fizz. 
She  was  quite  temperate.  She  was  as  careful  as  a 
prize-fighter  in  training. 

As  much  could  not  be  said  of  one  very  pretty 
blonde  girl,  exquisitely  dressed,  and  formed  in 
every  movement  and  accent  on  the  standards  of 
social  life  which  we  call  fashionable  for  lack  of  a 
more  definite  term,  and  Mrs.  Marriot  turned  upon 

her. 

12 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO    PART 

"  Tracie  Benton,  come  here !  Sit  down  by  me," 
whispered  Douce  Marriot,  with  a  curl  of  her  full 
lip.  Mrs.  Marriot  knew  quite  well  when  to  check 
her  own  convivial  instincts.  She  knew  where  to 
stop  in  everything;  which,  perhaps,  was  the  worst 
of  it. 

By  a  single,  subtle  motion  of  her  lace  parasol  she 
made  a  prisoner  of  the  blonde  girl  in  a  piazza  chair 
beside  herself  —  an  impulse  of  good  feeling  with 
which  Douce  Marriot  was  not  unendowed.  "  One 
must  atone,  at  times,"  she  thought  quizzically.  "  I  've 
matched  a  vivisector  and  a  golf  champion.  That 's 
sin  enough  on  my  soul  for  one  day.  Now  I  '11  see 
Tracie  Benton  home  to  her  mother." 

At  this  moment  a  remarkably  beautiful  dog 
bounded  up  the  piazza  steps,  and  stopped,  look- 
ing to  see  why  the  people  whom  he  owned  were 
so  slow  to  follow.  He  was  a  collie,  of  a  pure  breed, 
finely  marked ;  black,  with  tan  paws  and  cheeks, 
and  white  breast,  where  the  waving  hair,  which 
Nannie  had  called  a  shirt  front,  stood  straight  out 
like  a  frill  on  an  old-fashioned  gentleman.  A  scar, 
high  on  the  forehead,  was  noticeable,  but  did 
not  disfigure  him.  His  eyes  were  fine  and  full 
of  dignity;  his  whole  mien  and  expression  were 
noble. 

"  Look  here,  Clyde ! "  A  man's  voice  (a  merry 
one)  spoke  from  the  dog-cart  which  had  just  driven 

13 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

up.  "  You  're  too  well  born  and  well  bred  to  pre- 
cede a  lady." 

"  Clyde  shall  do  just  as  he  wants  to,"  replied  a 
laughing  girl.  "  He  always  does.  He  's  born  that 
way.  He  never  would  follow."  She  had  a  lovely, 
one  might  say  a  lovable  laugh  ;  and  her  voice  had 
the  charm  of  a  lost  art.  One  hardly  knew  how  to 
define  it,  beyond  saying  that  it  charmed,  until  one 
had  seen  the  speaker.  Then  you  perceived  that  she 
could  have  had  no  other  voice  and  existed.  Many 
voices  are  adaptable,  like  clothes,  and  may  come 
off  or  on  the  individual  at  the  command  of  the 
type.  This  girl's  tone  and  accent  were  inalienable. 
She  ran  up  the  steps  with  the  ease  of  perfect  health 
and  bubbling  happiness,  and  stood  a  moment  as  if 
a  little  uncertain  of  her  next  movement,  her  profile 
turned  towards  her  companion,  who  was  delayed 
in  giving  the  trap  to  the  club  groom. 

The  collie,  without  deigning  a  glance  at  the 
people  on  the  piazza,  had  leaped  down  the  steps 
and  gone  back  to  the  trap. 

"  You  honor  us,  Miss  Sterling,"  said  Douce  Mar- 
riot,  turning  her  head  with  a  singular  expression. 

The  slight  phrase,  with  a  half-concealed  scoff 
in  it,  seemed  somehow  to  carry  more  weight  than 
it  was  meant  to  hold,  and  bent  beneath  it,  like  an 
overladen  tree. 

There  were  vines  on  the  club  piazza  —  wood- 
14 


THOUGH   LIFE  US   DO   PART 

bine,  clematis,  and  the  usual  things ;  by  some- 
body's graceful  fancy  they  had  been  allowed  to 
hang  abundantly  at  the  eastern  entrance,  and  fell 
from  the  arch  uncut,  like  a  green  portiere.  Cara 
Sterling  put  this  aside  with  her  hands,  as  if  it  had 
been  lace.  She  stood  against  the  swaying  curtain 
of  the  vines,  holding  it  back  a  little,  daintily,  that 
she  might  not  bruise  a  tendril  or  hurt  the  feelings 
of  a  bud.  There  was  something  quaint  and  old- 
fashioned  about  her  figure,  in  her  high-throated 
organdie,  with  her  white  gloves  and  plain  shade 
hat  wound  by  white  silk,  and  the  filmy  sunshade 
in  her  hand.  Only  an  eminent  modiste  could  have 
fitted  that  gown,  but  Miss  Sterling  did  not  wear  it 
like  a  fashionable  woman  ;  she  wore  it  like  a  lovely 
girl.  The  first  impression  that  she  made  was  one 
of  whiteness  and  fineness;  the  sense  of  her  beauty 
came  afterwards. 

Her  gray  eyes  swept  the  piazza  group  with  a 
clear  glance ;  included  Douce  Marriot,  to  whose 
salutation  she  replied  more  courteously  than  cor- 
dially, touched  the  champion,  the  surgeon,  and 
the  Benton  girl,  and,  slightly  darkening,  assumed 
a  perplexed  depth  and  brilliance,  which,  although 
it  lived  no  longer  than  a  ray  from  a  moving  mir- 
ror, had  something  memorable  in  it.  She  looked 
the  very  blossom  and  promise  of  essential  woman- 
hood; gently  modulated,  with  a  candid  modesty 

i5 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO    PART 

of  demeanor  characteristic  of  a  past  rather  than 
of  the  present  time.  She  seemed,  in  very  truth,  to 
"honor"  the  Country  Club  ;  as  if  a  fixed  and  peace- 
ful ideal  had  been  confronted  with  a  mass  of  stormy, 
struggling  facts. 

"  Gee  whiz ! "  said  the  champion  under  her 
breath.  "  Great  Scott ! "  She  stopped  swinging 
her  feet,  and  got  down  from  the  piazza  rail.  Dr. 
Frost  stood  gloomily,  with  averted  face ;  his  color 
had  changed,  and  all  the  lines  in  his  forehead  and 
cheeks  were  expressed  in  gray. 

"  Ah,"  observed  Mrs.  Marriot,  softly,  "  it  seems 
we  are  to  have  the  village  doctor." 

The  gentleman  who  came  up  the  piazza  steps 
and  joined  Miss  Sterling  with  an  apology  —  some- 
thing about  the  groom  —  was  a  restless,  attractive 
young  man,  undeniably  handsome,  and  possibly  a 
person  of  force.  He  lacked  the  je  ne  sais  quoi 
which  is  the  complexion  of  inherited  wealth  and 
ease,  and  he  was  not  very  well  dressed ;  but  he  car- 
ried himself  with  a  debonair  manner  and  a  sturdy 
respect  for  his  own  individuality,  which  it  was  im- 
possible to  set  aside.  He  was  very  dark  in  coloring, 
and  his  nervous  mouth  was  well  cut;  better,  in- 
deed, than  his  chin,  about  which  there  was  some- 
thing not  clearly  defined  (for  it  was  not  an  ugly 
chin),  which  led  one  to  wonder  why  he  did  not 
wear  a  beard.  He  had  a  strong,  direct,  dark  eye 

16 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

and  a  joyous  voice.  On  the  top  of  his  head  the 
black  hair  showed  one  gray  lock. 

His  relation  to  Miss  Sterling,  which  he  carried 
in  his  atmosphere  by  a  kind  of  proud  and  forced 
obtrusion  of  the  fact,  was  clearly  that  of  her  fa- 
ther's physician,  invited  to  luncheon  and  driven 
over  to  the  Country  Club, —  the  guest  of  an  hour. 

He  looked  about  him  alertly,  recognizing  a 
patient  here  and  there  with  the  professional  eyes, 
and  a  few  acquaintances  with  the  personal  ones. 
He  had  not  the  exasperating  air  common  to  his 
kind,  of  being  so  pressed  for  time  that  one  is  of 
no  visible  account  unless  one  can  proffer  a  sore 
throat  or  an  exalted  temperature  ;  but  wore,  rather, 
the  manner  of  an  educated  young  man  who  had 
not  too  much  to  do,  or  who  did  not  care  whether 
he  did  it  or  not.  This  temperamental  nonchalance 
seemed  subtly  to  adapt  Chanceford  Dane  for  the 
leisure  class,  to  which  he  did  not  by  birth  or  train- 
ing belong. 

The  surgeon  stepped  up  and  greeted  him 
warmly,  if  this  adverb  could  be  used  of  any  act  of 
Dr.  Frost's.  In  fact,  there  was,  if  you  chose  to 
think  so,  a  forced  cordiality  in  his  welcome,  which 
the  village  doctor  buoyantly  ignored. 

"  Ah,  Frost !  "  he  said  airily.  "  This  is  well  met. 
Did  you  sail  over  ?  How  long  shall  you  be  around 
these  reefs  ? " 

17 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO    PART 

The  two  university  men  fell  together  for  a  mo- 
ment, while  the  champion  (with  her  sleeves  rolled 
down)  intercepted  Miss  Sterling,  on  whom  her 
roving  eyes  rested  with  a  fascinated  attention,  as 
if  she  had  been  a  man. 

"  I  made  such  a  beastly  stroke  to-day,"  com- 
plained the  golf  girl.  "  It  was  such  a  rotten  lie! 
If  I  hadn't  made  a  beggarly  swat  at  the  fourth 
hole  I  'd  have  made  the  course  in  forty-eight.  But 
I  don't  suppose  you  V  care." 

"Why,  frankly,  no  —  not  so  very  much,"  said 
Cara  Sterling:  in  a  half-troubled  voice,  as  if  she 
were  sorry  for  the  champion,  or  sorry,  indeed,  for 
any  being  in  the  world  beautiful  to  whom  her  sym- 
pathy did  not  outflow  that  June  day.  "I  am  no 
sort  of  a  player.  Not  that  I  don't  try;  but  I  can't 
seem  to  care  enough.  And  as  for  Dr.  Dane  —  "  she 
included  him  in  a  smile  which  went  to  his  head 
like  wine. 

"  I  don't  know  a  brassie  from  a  putting  green," 
said  Dr.  Dane. 

As  the  two  turned  the  champion  stepped  back, 
and  the  physiologist  and  the  young  lady  were 
brought  face  to  face.  Dr.  Frost  made  a  slight 
motion  as  if  to  extend  his  hand.  Miss  Sterling  did 
not  see  it,  and  it  dropped  at  his  side.  But  she  met 
him  with  her  sweet  geniality  —  she  seldom  denied 
this  to  any  person;  she  had  a  charming  manner, 

18 


THOUGH  LIFE   US   DO    PART 


not  untouched  with  dignity,  but  abounding  with 
good  humor  and  good-will. 

"  So  you  two  were  classmates,"  she  said  com- 
fortably. At  this  moment  the  young  lady  was 
seized  forcibly  by  the  skirt  of  her  muslin  dress  and 
unceremoniously  and  persistently  shaken  from 
behind.  Two  big  brown  paws  clasped  her  neck, 
and  then  dropped  to  her  waist  and  knee.  The 
best  Country  Club  gravel  and  too  well-sprinkled 
lawn  offered  an  excellent  medium  of  impression, 
and  the  footprints  of  the  dog  etched  the  white 
organdie  wherever  they  touched  it.  Before  the  girl 
could  protest  or  rebuke,  the  collie  kissed  her  deli- 
cately behind  her  pretty  ear. 

"  Oh,  Clyde  !  "  cried  Cara,  laughing  like  a  bell, 
"  what  a  dear  you  are !  "  Stooping,  she  put  her 
arms  about  the  dog's  neck,  and  laid  her  cheek 
upon  his  head. 

"  There  never  was  anybody  like  Clyde,"  she 
said. 

"  I  should  hope  not,"  observed  Dr.  Frost,  indis- 
creetly. He  returned  to  the  waiter,  as  he  spoke, 
the  tall  glass  which  he  had  offered  Dr.  Dane;  it 
had  been  filled  with  Scotch  and  soda,  and  the  vil- 
age  doctor  had  drained  it  like  a  man  who  did  not 
see  good  liquor  every  day.  "  I  should  hope  not," 
repeated  Dr.  Frost. 

At  the  sound  of  these  words  the  collie  raised 
19 


THOUGH   LIFE   US  DO   PART 

his  noble  head.  His  serious  gaze  challenged  the 
bright  company  confidingly,  one  by  one,  until  it 
reached  the  figure  of  the  experimenter.  Then  a 
curious  change  passed  over  the  dog.  His  upper 
lip  wrinkled  wickedly;  a  sinister  expression  crossed 
his  face;  it  was  swiftly  smitten  and  replaced  by  one 
of  inexplicable  terror. 


CHAPTER  II 

The  collie,  who  had  advanced  a  step  or  two, 
retreated.  He  planted  his  four  feet  firmly  on 
the  piazza,  and  with  set  jaws  regarded  the  physi- 
ologist, at  whom  he  gazed  with  an  abhorrence  so 
intelligent  as  to  be  startling.  This  expression  was, 
as  we  said,  overtaken  by  one  of  bleak  terror.  The 
dog's  ears  fell,  his  tail  dropped,  his  head  drooped, 
his  whole  proud  and  fearless  body  cringed ;  he 
backed  away,  crouching,  step  by  step,  velvet-footed 
as  a  cat,  until  he  reached  the  edge  of  the  piazza 
steps.  Here  he  paused,  and  seemed  to  consider 
his  next  move  with  seriousness. 

"  Why,  Clyde  !  "  said  Miss  Sterling,  with  some 
severity,  "what  in  the  world  —  I  never  saw  him  act 
that  way !  There  is  n't  a  cowardly  hair  on  him. 
He  fights  every  cur  in  Massachusetts.  He  never 
runs  from  any  of  them."  Happily  unconscious  of 
a  certain  ambiguity  in  her  last  words  (at  which  the 
surgeon  flushed  slightly),  the  young  lady  spoke 
sharply  to  the  dog,  who  paid  no  more  attention  to 
her  than  if  he  did  not  have  the  pleasure  of  her 
acquaintance. 

"  Let  him  alone,"  suggested  Douce  Marriot, 
21 


THOUGH   LIFE  US   DO    PART 


sweetly.  "  This  is  a  fin-de-siecle  drama.  Let 's  see 
it  played  out." 

A  group  gathered,  and  stopped  talking.  The 
dog  and  the  physiologist  occupied  the  foreground. 
It  grew  rather  still.  The  clink  of  a  glass  in  the 
club  dining-room  could  be  heard  plainly.  Tracie 
Benton  said  something,  and  Mrs.  Marriot  hushed 
her  sharply. 

The  collie  had  by  this  time  regained  himself. 
Abject  horror  faded  from  his  eyes,  the  cringe  stiff- 
ened out  of  his  body,  his  expression  of  terror  gave 
way  to  one  of  composure  and  of  dignity  ;  this  grew 
into  a  sense  of  personal  injury,  and  passed  slowly 
into  a  look  of  conscious  wrong  and  of  outrage  so 
profound  that  it  might  have  represented  a  race  or 
arraigned  one.  The  dog's  eyes  were  deep  enough, 
and  the  intellect  behind  them  clear  enough,  to  sus- 
tain more  emotion  than  many  human  faces  can. 

After  a  few  moments'  reflection  the  creature 
stood  erect  again ;  his  head  rose  high,  and  his  ears 
higher.  His  tail  reassumed  the  curve  of  self-respect, 
his  whole  fine  body  straightened  and  became  rigid; 
his  handsome  face  took  on  the  mould  of  elemental 
rage.  His  upper  lip  curled,  and  wrinkled  again, 
revealing  a  white  fang.  The  scar  on  his  forehead 
throbbed.  He  began  to  pant  painfully.  Then, 
clenching  his  teeth,  he  uttered  a  formidable  growl. 

"  Come  here,  Clyde !  Good  fellow,  sir ! "  ventured 

22 


THOUGH   LIFE  US   DO    PART 

the  physiologist,  politely.  He  put  out  his  veined, 
white  hand.  It  could  be  seen  that  he  deprecated 
the  dog.  "  Come  and  speak  to  me,  Clyde,  old  boy. 
Don't  you  know  me  ?  I  Ve  been  at  your  house  a 
good  deal.  Come  here,  sir !  " 

A  roar  from  the  dog  replied.  The  man  and  the 
animal  eyed  each  other.  The  man  was  a  little  pale. 
The  dog  seemed  as  conscious  of  this  circumstance 
as  any  other  observer.  He  hesitated,  and  crouched, 
still  growling,  and  working  himself  by  the  sound 
of  his  own  snarls  into  an  indignation  which  was 
not  without  something  of  solemnity. 

"  Better  be  a  little  careful,"  said  Clyde's  mistress, 
uneasily.  "  This  has  gone  about  far  enough."  She 
started  to  interfere. 

"  Ss  —  ss  —  st  —  boy !  "  cried  the  golf  champion 
at  this  moment. 

Then  the  dog  sprang.  He  cleared  the  distance 
between  himself  and  the  surgeon  by  a  bound,  and 
closed  upon  the  man.  Dr.  Frost  defended  him- 
self as  well  as  he  could,  but  every  motion  that  he 
made  clearly  increased  his  danger.  Clyde  was  a 
formidable  fighter,  and  of  great  personal  reputa- 
tion among  the  collies,  setters,  and  terriers  of  Bal- 
sam. He  had  this  man  at  his  mercy  now;  and  he 
kept  him  there. 

The  golf  girl  shrieked  like  a  mere  woman  who 
could  not  wield  a  brassie,  and  little  cries  came  up 

23 


THOUGH   LIFE  US   DO    PART 

from  the  group  on  the  piazza,  which  thickened 
quickly.  Cara  Sterling  now  had  Clyde  by  the 
collar,  but  he  shook  her  off  as  if  she  had  been  a 
stranger  on  the  street.  Dr.  Dane,  with  an  exclama- 
tion, came  forward,  and  seized  the  dog. 

"  Look  out !  "  cried  Cara  in  a  low  tone.  "  He  '11 
turn  on  you  !  " 

The  young  lady  and  the  surgeon  were  equally 
white  by  this  time.  Frost  was  thoroughly  fright- 
ened, and  almost  the  only  conscious  thought  he 
had  was  his  determination  that  this  girl  should 
not  know  it. 

The  collie,  who  had  sprung  first  at  the  man's 
throat,  for  some  reason  abandoned  his  base  of 
attack,  and  (not  being  a  bulldog)  did  not  feel  it 
a  point  of  honor  to  hold  on  where  he  had  taken 
grip.  He  seemed  rather  intent  on  investigating 
the  body  of  his  victim  more  deliberately,  and  occu- 
pied by  turning  over  in  his  mind  the  best  methods 
of  annihilation,  meanwhile  running  his  white  teeth 
up  and  down  the  surgeon's  shoulder  and  arm 
speculatively  and,  as  yet,  but  lightly.  At  the 
slightest  offer  of  human  interference  he  tightened 
his  teeth  in  the  coat  or  the  flesh,  wherever  they 
happened  to  be  set  at  the  moment. 

"Oh,  Clyde!"  cried  Cara  in  unbearable  distress, 
"  let  go  that  gentleman  !  Let  go  !  He  is  a  friend 
of  mine,  I  tell  you,  sir !  Clyde,  how  dare  you  bite 

24 


THOUGH  LIFE  US   DO   PART 

my  friends !  If  you  don't  let  go  I  shall  —  I  shall 
scold  you,  sir ! "  Clyde's  teeth  slid  down  the  sur- 
geon's arm,  and  rested  on  his  wrist  and  hand. 

"  Clyde,  if  you  don't  let  go,  I  shall  —  have  to  — 
whip  you,  sir !  " 

For  the  first  and  only  time  in  his  life  Clyde  re- 
plied to  his  mistress  with  an  ominous  growl.  His 
teeth  closed  on  the  man's  wrist,  just  around  the 
artery. 

It  was  Dr.  Frost's  right  hand,  —  the  hand  that 
had  torn  a  hundred  veins  and  nerves  from  living 
dogs  bound  and  helpless,  but  conscious  of  their 
torments.  It  was  the  experimenter's  expert  right 
hand,  whose  merciless  dexterity  had  created  his 
professional  success.  It  occurred  to  Dr.  Dane 
what  the  loss  of  this  hand,  or  even  its  partial  dis- 
ability, would  mean  to  the  vivisector. 

"  Surely  I  can  strangle  the  creature  off ! "  he 
cried.  He  caught  the  collie  by  the  throat.  But 
Miss  Sterling  pulled  him  back. 

"  He  will  tear  him  to  pieces  if  you  do  that ! " 
She  had  got  to  her  knees  now,  by  the  side  of  her 
dog,  and  began  to  entreat  him. 

"  Clyde !  Come,  Clyde.  "This  is  a  mistake,  Clyde. 
Let  him  alone.  You  've  got  the  wrong  man." 

At  these  words  a  hoarse  guttural  went  up  from 
the  dog.    It  sounded  like  a  laugh. 

"  See,  Clyde !  You  've  made  a  blunder  —  Stop, 
25 


THOUGH   LIFE  US   DO    PART 

dear,  and  listen  to  me.  Clyde,  you  must  listen  to 
me ! "  She  put  her  arms  around  the  dog's  neck, 
and  laid  her  cheek  against  the  scar  upon  his  fore- 
head. She  could  feel  it  throbbing  violently  be- 
neath her  touch. 

"  Look  out !  "  cried  Dr.  Dane,  anxiously.  "  The 
creature  might  hurt  you.  Can't  any  of  you  suggest 
anything  ?  "  he  asked,  whirling. 

A  gentleman  standing  by  called  a  caddie.  "  Go 
to  the  green-keeper,  and  tell  him  to  bring  his  pis- 
tol.   Tell  him  to  run  !  " 

Cara  Sterling's  soft  hand  stole  down  over  the 
collie's  cheek  and  jaw. 

"Do  not  —  take  any  risks  —  for  me,"  gasped 
Frost.  "  Please  move  away,  Miss  Sterling.  There's 
no  harm  done  yet.  I  don't  think  there  will  be. 
Really  I  don't,  I  —  " 

"  Hush  ! "  said  Cara  Sterling.  "  Please  be  still, 
everybody.  I  can  manage  my  own  dog  —  yet. 
Keep  perfectly  quiet,  Dr.  Frost." 

Very  slowly,  very  delicately  and  quietly,  talk- 
ing all  the  while  in  an  undertone  to  the  frenzied 
but,  it  could  be  seen,  now  attentive  dog,  the  girl's 
white  fingers  slid  past  his  jaws  and  gently  urged 
themselves  between  his  teeth. 

A  cry  came  from  somewhere  on  the  piazza;  but 
Cara  held  up  her  other  hand  to  enforce  silence. 
Before  the  quickest  perception  could  grasp  her 

26 


THOUGH   LIFE    US   DO   PART 

full  intention,  she  had  managed  to  insert  her  hand, 
finger  by  finger,  between  the  animal's  teeth,  flat 
upon  the  physiologist's  wrist.  "  There,  Clyde !  " 
she  said  softly.  "  You  know  you  would  n't  hurt 
me. 

The  collie's  jaws  relaxed  but  did  not  open.  He 
lifted  his  fine  eyes,  and  regarded  his  mistress  with 
a  puzzled  and  wounded  reproach. 

"  Dear  Clyde ! "  said  Cara.  After  a  moment's 
hesitation  he  loosened  his  grip;  the  man's  wrist 
fell  free;  the  dog  kissed  the  girl's  hand  —  half 
piteously,  it  seemed  —  and  laid  his  panting  face 
upon  her  knee. 

The  piazza  was  now  packed  and  the  clubhouse 
full.  Somebody  cheered,  and  then  such  a  hurrah 
arose  that  the  girl  felt  her  head  swim.  Frost  went 
very  white;  he  did  not  speak.  Cara  still  knelt  by 
the  dog.  Her  head  fell  over  on  his  forehead. 
The  Balsam  Groves  doctor  bent  to  ask  her  if  she 
felt  faint.  But  Mab  Miller  offered  her  whiskey 
gallantly. 

"  God  have  mercy  on  our  souls  !  "  cried  Douce 
Marriot,  suddenly.    "  Here  is  Sterling  Hart !  " 

Every  eye  in  the  Country  Club  turned  at  the 
name.  The  dog  and  the  physiologist  became  in- 
stantly a  past  sensation,  and  Cara  was  quite  for- 
gotten. Dr.  Dane  helped  her  to  her  feet,  and  she 
got  to  a  piazza  chair  with  her  trembling  fingers 

27 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO    PART 

locked  on  Clyde's  collar.  Frost  took  himself  away, 
and  passed  the  portiere  of  clematis  and  wood- 
bine, which  he  brushed  and  bruised  as  he  went 
through. 

A  man,  head  and  shoulders  above  any  other  in 
the  company,  stood  gazing  perplexedly  at  the 
scene.  He  was  of  imposing  physique,  well  pro- 
portioned, and  cast  in  every  respect  on  a  larger 
mould  than  ordinary  men.  He  wore  no  beard  or 
mustache,  and  there  was  something  Roman  in  his 
features  and  in  the  shape  of  his  head.  His  eyes 
were  dark  and  strikingly  fearless,  his  mouth  stren- 
uous and  grave,  although  it  melted  into  a  beautiful 
and  sometimes  a  peculiarly  happy  smile.  He  had  a 
commanding  mien,  and  something  of  the  peculiar 
self-possession  of  one  accustomed  to  appear  before 
masses  of  people.  He  was  not  a  very  young  man, 
seeming  something  past  forty,  and  his  hair  was 
slightly  strewn  with  gray. 

"Why,  Cousin  Carolyn!"  he  said,  in  an  authori- 
tative tone.  "What  does  this  mean?" 

"Oh,  Cousin  Sterling!"  cried  the  girl.  "  I  can't 
have  you  scolding  Clyde.  He  is  n't  in  your  dio- 
cese." 


CHAPTER   III 

The  two  in  the  dog-cart  drove  home  more  rap- 
idly than  they  came.  The  dog  with  the  shirt  frill 
was  not  allowed  to  follow  this  time.  Clyde  sat  at 
their  feet,  his  head  on  the  girl's  knee,  and  her 
hand  on  his  collar.  Miss  Sterling  seemed  very 
tired.  Dr.  Dane  watched  her  with  a  professional 
eye,  not  always  so  alert  to  the  occasion.  He  was 
not  a  particularly  observant  physician;  he  dis- 
liked his  profession,  and  objected  to  himself  for 
being  in  it,  but  tried  to  make  the  best  of  his  blun- 
der, as  thousands  of  young  men  do  in  the  accep- 
tance of  mistaken  careers. 

They  had  got  away  from  the  Country  Club  as 
quickly  and  as  quietly  as  possible.  Cara  had  said, 
"  Come  here,  Cousin  Sterling,  and  I  '11  confess  all 
about  it."  And  that  eminent  clergyman,  in  whose 
big  arm  she  had  linked  her  own  while  she  whis- 
pered a  few  words  in  his  bending  ear,  had  pro- 
tected her  departure  and  the  offending  collie's. 
Sterling  Hart's  wide  shoulders  towered  over  Mrs. 
Marriot,  the  champion,  Tracie  Benton,  and  the 
rest,  while  the  excited  and  exhausted  girl  slipped 
away.    As  he  stood  on    the  outer  edge  of  the 

29 


THOUGH   LIFE    US   DO   PART 

portiere  of  vines  watching  her  off,  with  lifted  hat, 
the  Reverend  Sterling  Hart  had  so  grave  an  ex- 
pression that  his  cousin  would  have  noticed  it  if 
she  had  been  less  absorbed ;  for  his  warm  smile 
was  always  hers  without  asking,  and  outside  of  his 
pulpit  he  was  counted  the  best  of  good  company. 
Socially  he  never  preached  or  prayed. 

The  physiologist  had  not  reappeared;  he  was 
reported  by  the  gentleman  who  sent  for  pistols  to 
be  in  the  dressing-room  bathing  bruises,  consoling 
scratches,  pinning  tatters,  and  generally  occupied 
in  the  line  of  repairs.  The  Reverend  Mr.  Hart 
made  an  inquiry  for  him  when  he  returned  to  the 
club  piazza ;  and  the  popular  version  of  the  recent 
scene  was  promptly  offered  him. 

"  I  have  n't  seen  anything  better  since  I  was  in 
the  Theatre  Francais  last  January,"  observed  Mrs. 
Marriot,  critically.  "  It  was  legitimate  drama,  Mr. 
Hart;  suitable  even  for  the  clergy.  Pity  you 
missed  it !  " 

Sterling  Hart  regarded  Douce  Marriot  without 
reply.  She  felt  that  she  hated  him  when  he  looked 
at  her  like  that.  His  eyes  passed  from  her  to  the 
talkative  girl  at  her  side ;  to  the  champion,  swing- 
ing her  feet  from  the  rail;  to  the  young  ladies  and 
gentlemen  in  the  dining-room,  with  the  tall  tum- 
blers in  their  hands.  Most  of  these  people  knew 
him  well ,  many  of  them  were  his  parishioners  in 

30 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

town,  and  had  long  since  learned  when  to  let  him 
alone.  It  was  quite  plain  now  that  he  had  one  of 
his  attacks  when  he  would  not  talk.  He  turned 
away  thoughtfully,  and  went  to  his  locker  for  the 
broken  lofter  whose  surgical  needs  he  had  come 
to  attend. 

The  young  people  in  the  dog-cart  were  almost 
as  silent  as  he.  They  had  ridden  as  far  as  Solomon 
Hops's  house  before  either  spoke.  When  they 
came  in  sight  of  the  chocolate  eclair,  the  doctor 
looked  the  other  way;  he  was  afraid  that  some 
patients  would  waylay  him  (it  being,  in  fact,  his 
office  hours),  and  he  had  no  visible  intention  of 
blotting  out  this  shining  moment  for  any  of  the 
physical  woes  of  his  limited  clientele.  The  young 
lady  spoke  now,  not  with  any  obvious  interest  in 
what  she  said :  — 

"  How  did  you  manage  it  ?  I  should  as  soon  have 
thought  of  asking  them  to  take  me  to  board  at 
Westminster,  or  proposing  to  our  late  Minister  to 
England  to  have  me  for  a  *  mealer.'  Solomon  would 
see  the  whole  summer  population  starve  before  he 
would  take  in  any  of  us" 

"  Oh,  rheumatism  was  my  friend  at  court,"  re- 
plied Dane,  lightly.  "  He  has  developed  a  species 
that  he  holds  at  a  high  figure,  like  his  marsh  lots. 
He  told  me  that  he  thought  it  might  be  handy  to 

3i 


THOUGH   LIFE  US   DO    PART 


have  me  around,  in  case  he  had  spells.  I  believe 
the  old  Balsam  doctor  got  tired  of  the  case.  I  real- 
ize that  I  am  in  luck,  —  while  it  lasts.  He  may 
turn  me  into  the  street,  you  know,  any  day,  if  I 
don't  cure  him." 

"  Nannie  is  such  a  pretty  girl,  don't  you  think 
so?"  asked  Miss  Sterling,  abruptly  enough. 

"Who?  Oh,  she?  Yes,  quite  pretty,"  replied 
Dr.  Dane,  without  enthusiasm. 

"She  is  studying  art,"  pursued  Miss  Sterling, 
with  a  little  smile.  "A  good  many  of  them  do, 
you  know;  I  can't  see  why,  can  you?  She  comes 
up  to  see  my  portfolios.  I  felt  as  if  I  'd  conquered 
a  battalion  the  first  day  she  did  it.  Most  of  the 
village  girls  hate  us  so.  I  can't  help  wondering 
wThy." 

"  It  would  be  wonderful,"  bungled  the  young 
man,  "  if  they  hated  you."  The  trite  and  fatuous 
words  were  not  off  his  lips  before  he  crimsoned 
with  mortification  at  their  escape.  Miss  Sterling 
had  given  him  a  swift,  and,  for  so  gentle  a  lady, 
somewhat  imperious  glance ;  but  when  she  per- 
ceived his  embarrassment  she  laughed  outright. 

"  Oh,  it  will  do  !  "  she  cried.  "  Anything  will  do, 
after  what  we  have  been  through  this  afternoon." 
Now,  again,  as  once  over  there  in  the  clubhouse, 
he  felt  his  head  grow  light.  But  he  answered  stead- 
ily enough : — 

32 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO    PART 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  able  to  speak  of  it.  I  thought 
I  'd  wait  till  you  could.  It  was  a  tremendous  scene. 
You  went  through  it  like  —  "  He  broke  off. 

11  I  can't  understand  why  Clyde  has  taken  such 
a  dislike  to  Dr.  Frost,"  she  proceeded,  speaking 
slowly  and  with  some  difficulty.  "  He  never  liked 
him  —  never.  But  the  last  few  months  I  've  had  to 
keep  the  two  apart  whenever  he  has  called.  And 
he  and  his  family  are  old  friends  of  ours.  Father 
thinks  a  great  deal  of  him." 

She  said  "  Keep  the  two  apart "  precisely  as  if 
she  referred  to  two  gladiators,  or  other  picked 
specimens  of  the  human  race  distinguished  for 
their  belligerent  qualities.  It  seldom  occurred  to 
Cara  that  her  dog  was  classified  among  the  infe- 
rior species.  An  eminent  scientist  at  dinner  one 
day  had  quite  hurt  her  feelings  by  speaking  of 
Clyde  as  a  beautiful  and  sagacious  animal. 

"  If  it  had  been  that  golf  girl,"  suggested  Dr. 
Dane,  with  a  brush  of  non-athletic  scorn,  "  she 
could  have  stood  it.  Their  sensibilities  must  be 
developed  like  their  arms,  I  fancy,  —  all  biceps  and 
deltoid.  But  you  —  "  he  ventured  again. 

He  was  young,  and  his  fancy  set  an  aureola 
about  this  girl,  —  modest,  finely  finished,  very 
woman  of  very  woman,  a  beautiful  anachronism, 
he  thought,  a  fair,  illuminated  window  which  let 
in  the  light  of  another  and  a  less  rude  day  than 

33 


THOUGH   LIFE   US  DO   PART 

ours.  His  profession,  which  (if  we  may  be  per- 
mitted the  word)  deidealizes  women  earlier  in  life 
and  more  roughly  than  any  other,  had  not  spoiled 
for  the  Balsam  Groves  doctor  the  glamour  natural 
to  his  sex  and  his  years,  perhaps  because  he  expe- 
rienced so  little  interest  in  the  profession.  He 
thought  of  Carolyn  Sterling  in  poetic  phrases  and 
in  aesthetic  phases;  as  violets  breathe,  as  white 
roses  bud,  as  blush  clouds  float,  as  fawns  flee,  as 
all  shy  and  lovely  things  exist.  He  thought  of  her 
as  a  beino:  to  be  sheltered  all  her  life  from  the 
prick  of  a  thorn  or  the  approach  of  a  draft ;  a  girl 
not  to  be  caused  a  tear  nor  to  endure  a  pang ;  a 
girl  never  to  hear  bad  news  or  a  sharp  word.  He 
had  been  thinking  of  her  in  this  way,  and  for  some 
time  ;  ever  since  her  father's  case  fell  into  his  hands 
in  April.  This  unexpected  drive  was  "  a  vision  and 
a  glory  in  the  earth  "  to  Chanceford  Dane. 

He  had  dwelt  upon  what  he  should  say  in  taking 
her  home,  and  how  she  would  look,  and  act,  and 
to  what  sacred  economy  he  could  best  put  that 
precious  span  of  time.  A  rainbow  like  this,  — 
which  might  never  arch  his  life  again,  —  by  what 
fine  color  laws  could  its  splendid  hues  be  detached 
from  the  prism,  hanging  heaven  high  and  held  to 
light  his  heart  ? 

Now  the  ride  was  almost  over,  and  they  had 
scarcely  exchanged  twenty  words;  these  of  the 

34 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 


most  indifferent  and  evasive  sort.  A  dog  and  a 
physiologist  (confusion  be  on  Thomas  Frost !)  had 
smitten  the  rainbow  out  of  the  sky.  The  village 
doctor  drove  like  a  man  under  a  blackening  cloud, 
hurrying  to  get  to  her  father's  house ;  cutting  short 
his  own  prismatic  moment,  and  driving  the  faster 
because  he  perceived  that  Miss  Sterling  was  more 
exhausted  than  she  knew.  She  was  such  a  healthy 
girl  —  more  well  than  strong,  as  women  free  from 
every  disorder  but  that  of  their  own  sensitive- 
ness are  —  that  it  did  not  occur  to  Cara  that  she 
had  experienced  anything  which  would  justify  the 
sensations  of  collapse  so  new  to  her  that  they 
seemed  nothing  less  than  abnormal.  Her  words 
came  with  more  and  more  difficulty;  and  she 
leaned  back  weakly  against  the  tan  leather  cush- 
ions of  the  dog-cart. 

Clyde,  with  his  face  on  her  knee,  whined,  stirred, 
and  watched  her  as  anxiously  as  the  physician  did. 
The  dog  perfectly  understood  that  he  was  in  dis- 
grace; but,  for  his  own  private  reasons,  could  not 
understand  why.  The  ethics  of  the  universe  were 
overturned  that  day  for  Clyde.  Justice  was  a  blas- 
phemy, and  the  human  race  a  darkened  riddle,  of 
which  his  own  adored  and  adorable  mistress  was 
the  chief  element  of  perplexity  in  a  problem  that 
was  too  much  for  collies. 

"  I  feel — very  strangely,"  said  Cara,  putting  her 
35 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO    PART 

hand  to  her  head.  Her  white  sunshade  drooped, 
and  fell.  Dr.  Dane  caught  it,  slipped  the  reins 
into  his  right  hand,  and  quietly  laid  his  left  arm 
across  the  back  of  the  seat.  He  did  not  touch  her, 
but,  if  she  swayed,  he  could  catch  her  at  an  in- 
stant's width. 

"  Lean  towards  me,"  he  commanded,  in  his  pro- 
fessional tone,  "  not  the  other  way,  not  towards 
the  edge.  We  are  almost  home." 

"  I  never  faint !  "  gasped  Cara,  defiantly. 

"  No,"  he  returned,  "  you  are  not  going  to  faint. 
I  shall  not  let  you.  We  are  almost  home,"  he  re-- 
peated  in  a  matter-of-fact  tone,  as  if  it  had  been 
an  every-day  affair  for  them  to  be  driving  together, 
or  even  as  if  —  But  he  drove  fast ;  and  the  dog- 
cart whirled  up  the  long  avenue,  to  her  father's 
door,  at  a  spinning  pace.  He  tried  to  divert  her 
thoughts  from  her  sensations,  as  the  merest  ap- 
prentice in  his  profession  seeks  to  divert  a  patient. 
"  I  wish  I  had  one  of  those  long  drinks  for  you ! " 
he  began. 

Cara,  looking  at  him  blindly,  through  the  purple 
mist  that  had  settled  across  her  eyes,  thought: 
"  Why,  he  has  a  charming  smile  !  " 

But  she  did  not  think  anything  more.  She  had 
been  sitting  up  very  straight  and  stiff,  when  she 
gave  way  altogether,  and  suddenly,  like  a  broken 
shaft,  toppled  toward  him, 

36 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

Mr.  Rollinstall  Sterling  was  sitting  in  his  large, 
cool  drawing-room,  —  a  plainly  furnished  room, 
with  that  sumptuous  touch  of  indifference  to  other 
people's  parlors  which  one  sees  only  in  the  homes 
of  the  well-born  rich.  The  absence  of  bric-a-brac 
and  upholstery  in  this  house  was  as  marked  and 
as  severe  as  the  figure  of  its  master;  a  gray  and 
stately  gentleman,  of  a  presence  whose  dignity 
was  reduced  a  little  by  an  invalid  air.  At  the  sound 
of  the  dog-cart,  racing  up  the  avenue  faster  than 
he  thought  necessary,  he  came  out  to  the  piazza, 
and  sheltered  himself  in  his  wind  chair.  He  had 
no  sooner  done  this  than  he  uttered  a  sharp  though 
decorous  exclamation,  and  got  himself  down  the 
steps  more  quickly  than  the  sick  man  had  moved 
for  many  a  day.  He  had  never  seen  his  daugh- 
ter in  a  young  man's  arms,  and  his  fancy  flew 
to  meet  an  unknown  disaster,  which  took  the 
form  of  a  cross  between  an  accident  and  an  elope- 
ment. 

"  Get  me  some  brandy !  "  called  the  village 
doctor,  imperiously.  Then,  more  gently:  "She  is 
not  hurt,  Mr.  Sterling.  I  don't  think  she  has  even 
fainted  —  exactly.  Let  her  alone,  Clyde, — let  her 
alone.  Here,  Tibbs,  help  me  lift  her  out  —  No  — 
so.  She  has  been  through  a  trying  scene,  that 's 
all." 

He  put  his  arms  powerfully  about  the  girl,  who, 
37 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

though  quite  conscious,  found  herself  too  weak  to 
protest.  In  fact,  it  struck  him  that  it  was  all  one 
to  her — whether  the  coachman  or  the  doctor,  it 
did  not  matter.  Between  them  the  two  men  car- 
ried her  into  the  drawing-room  and  laid  her  on  a 
broad  sofa,  by  a  window.  The  wind  blew  in  salt 
from  the  sea,  and  dashed  against  her  face.  It  was 
painfully  white.  The  sparkling  decanter  shook  in 
her  father's  hands,  and  the  little  Irish  maid,  Kath- 
leen, began  to  cry.  The  young  physician  himself 
put  the  stimulant  to  her  lips,  though  somewhat 
sparingly  or  cautiously.  His  ringers  remained  on 
her  pulse.  Once  he  put  his  ear  to  her  heart.  He 
made  no  comment,  except  to  say,  "You  need  not 
have  a  particle  of  anxiety,  Mr.  Sterling."  Indeed, 
his  chief  concern  seemed  to  be  for  his  chronic 
patient 

"  I  never  faint,"  repeated  Cara,  distinctly.  "  I 
can't  — seem  to  see  what  ails  me  ?  "  she  complained. 
She  tried  to  lift  her  head,  which  fell  back  heavily 
on  the  pink  and  white  roses  of  the  cretonne-cov- 
ered sofa. 

"  Miss  Sterling,"  said  Dane,  bringing  his  lips  to- 
gether, "  you  have  had  a  shock.  This  is  nothing 
but  the  reaction.  You  will  be  all  right  in  a  little 
while.  You  are  not  seriously  ill.  But  you  are  worse 
because  you  are  not  used  to  being  ill  at  all,  and 
you  don't  know  what  it  means." 

38 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

"  Then  I  am  ashamed  of  myself!  "  she  tried  to 
say.  But  the  words  came  like  wraiths  of  words, 
and  an  expression  of  distress  and  mortification 
passed  over  her  blanched  face. 

"  Everybody  else  is  proud  of  you ! "  cried  the 
doctor,  fervently.  "  Trust  me,"  he  added,  "  if  you 
can.  I  am  telling  you  the  truth  in  every  respect." 

She  had  always  been  so  well,  and  so  proud  of 
her  good  health  and  superb  young  vigor,  it  seemed 
to  her  as  if  a  moral  blight  had  suddenly  fallen  upon 
her.  She  disliked  Dane  just  then  for  being  witness 
to  this  humiliation.  And  she  made  him  no  answer 
at  all. 

He  got  himself  away  from  her  as  soon  as  he 
conscientiously  could.  He  was  not  accustomed  to 
young  ladies  who  desired  his  professional  visits 
shortened. 

Mr.  Rollinstall  Sterling  followed  the  doctor  to 
the  piazza,  and  laid  a  trembling  hand  upon  his 
arm. 

"  Is  it  possible,"  he  asked  unsteadily,  "  that  my 
daughter  has  inherited  my  difficulties  ?  Is  there 
—  do  you  see  —  any  signs  of  an  affection  of  the 
heart  ? " 

"  The  organ  is  as  sound  as  mine,"  returned  the 
young  physician,  with  some  unnecessary  sharp- 
ness. "  I  tell  you,  sir,  this  is  nothing  but  shock. 
Some  men  would  call  it  a  nervous  sinking  turn.  I 

39 


THOUGH   LIFE    US   DO   PART 

prefer  the  term  shock.  It  covers  the  case.  If  she 
had  a  disease  of  the  heart,  Mr.  Sterling,  your 
daughter  might  have  dropped,  under  what  she  has 
been  through.  It  is  an  unusual  physique  —  highly 
organized,  sensitive  to  timidity,  yet  she  has  pluck 
enough  and  nerve  enough  to  —  I  never  saw  any- 
thing like  it,  that 's  all !  "  concluded  Chanceford 
Dane.  With  brilliant  eyes  he  told  the  old  man  the 
story. 

Before  Dane  had  finished  his  late  supper,  which 
Nannie  (it  being  her  cook's  day  out)  was  some- 
what slow  in  serving,  his  telephone  called  imperi- 
ously, and  he  was  summoned  back  to  Rollinstall 
Sterling's  house;  but  the  call  came  from  the 
chronic  patient.  Mr.  Sterling  was  suffering  one 
of  the  habitual  miseries  known  as  his  attacks; 
and  his  daughter,  pale  as  a  pear  blossom,  and 
slender,  in  a  loose,  misty  gown,  was  in  close 
attendance  upon  her  father.  The  door  into  her 
own  room  was  opened  from  his  (she  had  not  al- 
lowed herself,  as  the  doctor  knew,  to  sleep  out  of 
reach  of  the  sick  man's  call  for  many  months), 
and  once  or  twice  she  passed  in  and  out  on  some 
errand. 

It  was  an  arched  door,  and  gave  something  of 
the  effect  of  a  vista  to  a  dim  perspective  in  which 
everything  seemed  to  be  white,  with  a  possible 

40 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

blush  as  faint  as  the  beginnings  of  dawn  upon 
the  walls.  The  girl  stood  on  the  threshold,  aus- 
tere and  sweet;  her  dress  looked  vague,  like  the 
pearl-white  fog  that  was  sweeping  in  with  the 
easterly  from  the  open  sea.  The  young  man 
dared  not  raise  his  eyes  to  her.  The  physician 
busied  himself  assiduously  with  her  father.  He 
and  Cara  Sterling  did  not  talk.  Once  he  had 
said,  "  Where  is  Clyde  ? "  and  Cara  had  replied, 
"Shut  up  in  the  sewing-room.  I  told  him,"  she 
added  very  sadly,  "that  I  should  have  to  punish 
him." 

Dr.  Dane  did  not  ask  the  young  lady  how  she 
felt  this  evening.  It  occurred  to  him  that  she 
was  not  without  gratitude  for  the  omission.  She 
had  never  been  his  patient.  It  also  occurred  to 
him  that  she  never  meant  to  be. 

When  he  came  out  through  the  dim  drawing- 
room  a  powerful  figure  rose  from  one  of  the 
wicker  chairs  beside  the  cretonne  sofa.  It  was  the 
Reverend  Sterling  Hart,  who  had  come  to  inquire 
for  his  cousin. 

"After  such  a  shock,"  he  said,  "I  thought  she 
must  feel  it.  When  I  learned  that  you  were  in  the 
house,  I  stayed  to  ask  you." 

There  was  a  slight  constraint  in  the  clergyman's 
manner.  Dane  was  somehow  reminded  that  he  was 
the  village  doctor.   He  replied  with  some  dignity 

4i 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

in  his  own  demeanor,  under  which  the  attitude  of 
the  other  became  more  cordial. 

"Can  I  do  anything,  do  you  think,  if  I  remain?" 
asked  Hart,  with  a  boy-like  timidity  which  was  at 
times  characteristic  of  the  man. 

"  They  are  both  quite  comfortable  now,"  replied 
Dane.  "Miss  Sterling  meant  to  retire,  I  think. 
She  ought  not  to  have  been  up  and  about  at  all." 
He  passed  out  without  further  words.  His  feet  rang 
on  the  gravel,  and  he  held  his  handsome  head  well 
up.  In  spite  of  himself  his  heart  sang  in  an  under- 
tone. It  was  full  moonlight,  and  the  world  seemed 
to  be  listening  for  something.  At  the  end  of  the 
long,  wooded  avenue  he  met  the  surgeon,  walking 
eagerly  in  the  warm  light. 

"You,  too,  Thomas?"  said  Chanceford  Dane, 
stopping  short. 

" Et  tu  Brute?"  replied  Frost,  smiling  stead- 
ily. 

"You  won't  see  her,"  added  the  physician  over 
his  shoulder.  "She  isn't  fit  for  it — to-night." 

He  could  not  quite  keep  the  note  of  privilege 
out  of  his  voice.  He  hurried  on,  and  out  into 
the  road;  it  ran  like  a  river  of  light  through  the 
wide  country.  The  fog  had  shifted,  and  was  veer- 
ing out.  The  sea  called  loudly,  like  something 
thwarted  in  a  purpose.  No  carriages  were  at  the 
moment  passing,  and  the  bright  road  was  still. 

42 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO    PART 

Some  people  on  the  hotel  cliffs  were  singing,  — 
such  songs  as  everybody  knew,  —  and  the  mel- 
ody swung  towards  him,  muffled  by  distance  and 
foliage:  — 

"  Oh,  promise  me  that  some  day  you  and  I 
Will  take  our  love  together  to  some  sky  ! " 

The  thick  trees,  black-green,  and  with  leaves 
looking  solid  as  metal,  intervened  like  an  em- 
bossed shield  between  himself  and  the  house  that 
he  had  left.  As  he  stood  gazing  and  dreaming, 
these  changed  their  form  to  his  stimulated  fancy, 
and  grew  large  and  formidable,  like  the  bastions 
of  a  garrison  armed  to  guard  something  precious 
and  of  high  degree. 

He  lifted  his  hat,  and  stood  uncovered  in  the 
moonlight. 

Dr.  Dane's  telephone  hung  in  his  office,  and 
his  bedroom  adjoined  the  office.  He  slept  with  his 
door  open.  At  a  little  past  midnight  the  call  bell 
rang  loudly.  He  sprang  to  the  receiver.  A  woman's 
voice,  —  a  lady's  voice,  —  agitated,  and  rapid,  but 
quite  low,  said:  — 

"Is  this  Dr.  Dane?" 

"Yes,  Miss  Sterling." 

"  Can  you  come  at  once  ? " 

"  Immediately." 

"Papa  is  very  sick —  Oh,  very  sick!  I  have 
43 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

never  seen  him  like  this.    I    am  afraid — "    She 
choked,  and  he  could  hear  her  sob. 

"  I  will  be  there  in  four  minutes,"  he  said.  He 
flung  on  his  clothes,  pushed  his  bicycle  out  of 
Solomon  Hops's  dim  entry,  and  whirled  away. 


CHAPTER    IV 

Sterling  Hart  sat  alone  in  the  dim  drawing-room 
for  a  few  minutes  after  the  doctor  had  left  him, 
with  the  irresolution  of  a  man  who  has  been  ob- 
structed in  the  fulfillment  of  a  cherished  purpose 
that  he  is  reluctant  to  abandon.  Then  he  went 
out  on  the  piazza,  and  with  commendable  caution 
ventured  to  try  the  hospitality  of  his  uncle's  wind 
chair,  which  groaned  under  his  colossal  weight. 

"  I  'm  too  much  for  it,"  he  thought,  rising  un- 
comfortably, —  "as  I  seem  to  be  for  a  good  many 
things." 

With  the  freedom  of  a  near  relative  and  of  one 
intimate  to  the  family  life,  he  strolled  about  the 
grounds  for  a  while,  smoking  the  single  cigar  of 
the  day  which  his  clerical  principles  did  not  forbid 
him.  His  own  summer  house,  but  a  mashie  stroke 
away,  stood  in  the  moonlight  with  a  solitary  look; 
a  large  place  —  "too  large  for  one  fellow,"  as  he 
was  accustomed  to  say  —  close  to  the  water's  brow. 
Between  the  two  estates  the  cliffs  were  cut  by  a 
deep  ravine.  It  was  high  tide,  and  the  water  was 
sucking  through,  and  dashed  high  with  a  hollow, 
reverberating  sound.  A  narrow  iron  bridge,  with 

45 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO    PART 


a  strong,  almost  a  solid,  railing,  spanned  the  chasm. 
The  path  across  the  rocks  (three  feet  wide  at  the 
high-water  mark)  allowed  by  law  and  claimed  by 
the  clamorous  people  came  to  an  abrupt  end  at  the 
boiling  fissure.  At  the  right  the  beach,  two  miles 
long,  stretched  on  to  Balsam.  The  native  popula- 
tion, elated  by  the  decision  which  would  weave 
the  web  of  the  trolley  across  this  fair  remnant  of 
unsuspecting  Nature,  were  building  bonfires  that 
night  in  celebration  of  the  local  victory ;  and  their 
dark  figures  flitted  to  and  fro  across  the  blood-red 
light,  looking  small  and  uneasy,  like  flies  liable  to 
be  caught  in  yet  invisible  meshes. 

The  "  cottages  "  of  the  summer  people  —  simply 
sumptuous  or  sumptuously  simple  within,  and  art- 
fully artless  without  —  commanded  the  water  front 
for  miles  on  either  hand.  Mrs.  Douce  Marriot  was 
giving  an  elaborate  dinner  not  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
away. 

The  music  of  the  violin,  'cello,  and  flute  brought 
out  from  town,  sequestered  in  the  garden  for  the 
entertainment  of  her  guests,  came  over  the  ravine 
and  undulated  from  the  water  with  a  softened  and 
half-mysterious  fervor. 

Far  down  the  beach  the  winter  people  were 
rudely  singing  around  their  bonfires  the  songs 
that  the  people  loved.  Sterling  Hart  paused  on 
the  cliff's  edge  to  listen  to  them.  Now  and  then 

46 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

he  could  make  out  the  strain  quite  clearly.  Once 
he  caught  the  words:  — 

"Some  day  you  and  I  — " 

As  he  stood  and  listened,  with  shoulders  well 
thrown  back  and  his  massive  head  erect,  the  flute 
in  the  Marriot  garden,  whether  by  accident  or  in 
self-defense,  took  up  the  popular  melody.  The 
'cello  responded,  and  the  violin  cried,  wailing  — 
or  praying,  as  it  seemed  to  him ;  the  words  came 
to  him  imperfectly,  as  if  they  said :  — 

"Oh,  take  this  love,  and  lift  it  to  the  sky !  " 

Sterling  Hart  threw  his  cigar  over  into  the 
water,  where  it  fell  hissing.  He  stood  with  bowed 
head,  a  reverent  and  majestic  figure.  His  people 
were  used  to  seeing  him  in  this  attitude  at  the 
close  of  Sunday  afternoon  services,  in  the  twilight 
before  the  lights  leaped  out,  when  the  organ  re- 
ceived the  benediction  from  his  lips,  and  laid  it 
solemnly  upon  their  hearts  and  lives. 

11  One  might  not  hear  that  again  in  a  lifetime," 
said  abruptly  a  strident  voice  behind  him.  The 
preacher,  wincing,  turned. 

"  The  two  social  extremes  don't  often  hit  off  the 
same  music."  Dr.  Frost  came  up  smiling,  and 
looked  over  the  cliff's  edge. 

"  I  'm  not  so  sure  of  that,"  replied  Sterling  Hart, 
quickly.  "  The  great  passions  or  the  great  aspira- 

47 


THOUGH    LIFE   US   DO    PART 


tions  will  do  it.  Perhaps  the  only  thing  is  to  strike 
the  right  key.  Besides,"  he  added,  "  the  great  suf- 
ferings do  it,  and  the  great  sins." 

"  Hear  them  now,"  cried  the  physiologist,  with 
a  mocking  smile.  The  pretty  love  song  had  ceased, 
and  the  crowds  on  the  beach,  now  dancing  around 
their  bonfires,  were  shouting  drunkenly :  — 

"  We  '11  e-lec-tro-cute  them  doo-oodes  on  a  spe- 
cial trolley  line." 

"  You  've  spoiled  it,  Frost,"  said  the  preacher, 
with  a  gesture  of  repugnance,  as  if  the  other  were 
really  to  blame. 

"  Come  over  to  the  house  with  me,"  he  said  in 
a  different  tone ;  "  I  want  to  talk  with  you.  My 
uncle's  lights  are  out,"  he  added,  glancing  at  the 
sick  man's  windows.  "  He  must  be  more  comfort- 
able. I've  only  been  waiting  to  make  sure.  It's 
of  no  use  pretending  that  they  want  us  any  longer." 
His  cousin's  windows,  too,  were  quite  dark,  and 
the  green  blinds  closed.   But  neither  of  the  two 
gentlemen  spoke  of  this.  They  walked  in  silence 
towards  the   ravine,  and  crossed  the  little  iron 
bridge,  which  vibrated  with  the  preacher's  weight. 
It  seemed  rather  lonely  in   Mr.   Hart's  large, 
silent  house.    His  old  housemaid  came  out  to  ask 
if  he  wanted  anything. 

"  Only  some  cigars,  thank  you,  Jane,"  he  said. 
He  offered  these  to  his  guest,  but  did  not  smoke 

48 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

again  that  night  himself.  He  fell  indeed  into  one 
of  his  profound  and  unapproachable  silences,  and 
sat  looking  at  the  water  with  eyes  averted  from 
Thomas  Frost. 

"  Well  ? "  said  the  surgeon  at  last,  uncomfort- 
ably. 

"  It  is  the  breach  of  hospitality,"  replied  Sterling 
Hart,  "  that  troubles  me.  I  have  some  things  to 
say  that  a  host  does  n't  usually  say  to  a  guest.  I 
don't  know  that  I  'm  going  to  be  able  to  say  them 
on  my  own  piazza.  Would  you  mind  coming  to 
walk  —  somewhere  —  after  all  ?  " 

"  We  might  row  out  to  the  three-mile  limit,  on 
neutral  international  territory,"  answered  Frost, 
with  a  sardonic  twitch  of  his  mustache.  "  That 
would  do,  I  suppose.  Come,  Mr.  Hart,  out  with  it, 
please!  Don't  stand  on  ceremony  —  in  my  case. 
I  'm  not  sensitive." 

"  If  you  had  been,"  returned  the  preacher, 
quickly,  "  I  should  not  have  been  in  the  position 
I  am  —  or  you,  either.  We  might  have  omitted 
the  subject  upon  which  I  feel  forced —  I  may  be 
wrong,  but  I  do  feel  so  —  to  speak  with  you." 

"  To  pursue  the  imagery  of  our  friends  yonder 
on  the  beach,  don't  electrocute  me  too  slowly,  Mr. 
Hart.  It  ought  to  be  instantaneous  —  a  thousand 
volts,  and  done  with  it.  You  keep  me  dangling  in 
slow  torture  on  '  a  special  trolley  line.' " 

49 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

"  There  is  some  justice  in  that,  I  grant  you," 
admitted  Mr.  Hart.  "  Here  it  is,  then !  Dr.  Frost, 
I  must  request  you  to  suspend  your  attentions  to 
my  cousin,  —  in  short,  to  cease  your  suit." 

Thomas  Frost  made  no  reply  for  so  long  that 
there  was  something  distressing  in  his  silence. 
His  muscles  stiffened,  and  from  his  face  —  never 
a  mobile  or  expressive  one  —  every  flicker  of  ex- 
pression fled  ;  it  was  as  if  a  thousand  volts  of  doom 
had  penetrated  his  soul  and  body. 

"  Do  you  speak  as  one  having  authority,  or  as 
the  scribes?"  he  demanded  at  last,  in  a  raucous, 
constrained  voice. 

"  I  venture  to  use  the  privilege  of  her  nearest 
relative  —  her  nearest  man  relative  —  with  mens 
sana  in  corpore  sano." 

"  You  omit  the  lady's  father  from  the  calcula- 
tion?" 

"  My  uncle  is  an  invalid ;  a  remote  and  dying 
man;  as  much  set  apart  from  the  world  and  as 
ignorant  of  a  class  of  facts  which  have  bearing  on 
the  case  as  a  Franciscan  monk." 

"  And  yet,"  replied  the  physiologist,  with  a 
shrewd  look,  "  I  have  presumed  so  far  as  to  fancy 
that  Mr.  Rollinstall  Sterling  is  not  unfriendly  to 
me." 

"  That  is  perfectly  true.  That  is  why  I  speak — 
to  you." 

50 


THOUGH   LIFE  US   DO   PART 

"  Do  you  mean  to  imply,  Mr.  Hart,"  said  Dr. 
Frost,  very  slowly,  "that  this  friendliness  is  one 
which  it  is  in  your  power,  if  you  choose  to  exer- 
cise it,  to  overthrow  ?  " 

"  I  mean  to  imply  precisely  that." 

"  And  that  you  might,  under  conceivable  cir- 
cumstances, choose  to  exercise  the  power  ?  " 

"  Under  conceivable  circumstances — frankly—. 
I  might." 

Dr.  Frost  got  up  and  paced  the  piazza  —  not 
hotly,  but  with  a  cold,  deliberate  rage  which  froze 
where  another  man's  might  have  melted.  His 
movements  were  like  those  of  a  mechanical  toy 
or  steam  effigy  as  he  passed  to  and  fro,  with  his 
cigar  gleaming  between  his  lips,  and  his  whole 
figure  as  tense  as  metal.  It  was  evident  that  his 
long  habit  of  respect  for  the  preacher —  his  elder 
and  superior  in  all  the  values  of  life,  both  visible 
and  invisible  —  prevented  the  surgeon  from  treat- 
ing this  extraordinary  interference  on  the  part  of 
Sterling  Hart  as  he  would  have  treated  it  in  any 
other  man.  Unfortunately  he  could  not  wind  up 
the  subject  by  a  brief  and  natural  "  Blank  you ! " 
or,  "Go  to  Blank!  "  or,  "Do  you  want  her  your- 
self ?  "  With  a  chilling  self-restraint  he  sat  down 
again  in  the  piazza  chair,  and  tossed  the  ashes 
from  his  cigar. 

"  Have  you  said  anything  ?  "  he  asked. 
5i 


THOUGH   LIFE  US   DO    PART 

"  No.  I  am  surprised  that  you  put  the  question. 
No." 

"  She  did  not  shake  hands  to-day  over  there," 
mused  the  experimenter.  "  I  don't  remember  that 
this  has  happened  before.  It  occurred  to  me  — 
And  yet,  look  what  she  did  for  me  —  afterward !  " 

A  smothered  exclamation  from  the  preacher 
startled  the  summer  air. 

"  Why,  man !  you  don't  mean  to  say  you 
thought  —  " 

"  Consider  the  risk  she  ran,"  continued  Frost, 
excitedly,  "  the  courage  it  took  —  the  —  " 

"  Do  you  mean  to  suggest,"  blazed  the  clergy- 
man, "  that  you  suppose  for  one  moment  she  did 
that  for  you  ?  Why,  it  was  for  the  dog,  sir !  They 
had  sent  for  pistols  !  She  was  afraid  they  were 
going  to  shoot  Clyde!" 

"  Damn  that  dog !  "  exploded  the  surgeon,  fer- 
vently. 

"  That  is  a  disposal  of  the  subject  which  you  did 
your  best  to  effect  about  three  months  ago,"  replied 
Mr.  Hart,  gravely. 

"  Can't  you  let  that  alone  ? "  came  petulantly 
from  Dr.  Frost.  "  You  are  sure  you  have  n't  told 
her  ?  "  he  added  fatuously. 

The  preacher  turned  his  stately  head,  and  re- 
garded the  other  with  sternness.     . 

"  I  shall  tell  her,"  he  said  quietly,  "  if  you  do  not 
52 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

meet  the  request  that  I  began  this  interview  by- 
making.    Cease  your  suit,  I  say." 

The  physiologist  had  now  become  quite  white. 
He  opened  his  lips  to  answer,  but  no  words 
came. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  make  myself  so  disagreeable  to 
any  man,"  continued  the  clergyman,  more  gently, 
"  but  I  have  thought  this  thing  well  through.  I 
can't  allow  her,  without  full  knowledge  of  what  she 
would  be  doing,  to  run  so  much  as  the  thousandth 
fraction  of  a  risk  of  being  influenced  by  her  father's 
feeling  —  or  possibly  by  the  glamour  of  having 
saved  you  from  some  shocking  termination  of  that 
scene  to-day  —  or  by  your  own  dogged  and  fatal 
persistency  —  " 

"  Yes," interrupted  the  surgeon,  setting  his  teeth, 
"  women  are  won  by  the  indomitable.  She  would  n't 
be  the  first.  A  man  often  succeeds  by  a  kind  of 
main  force,  if  he  understands  that  sort  of  thing." 

"  Dr.  Frost,"  said  Sterling  Hart,  in  a  tone 
under  which  the  other  tingled,  "you  oblige  me  to 
recall  to  you  circumstances  which  have  a  different 
place  in  my  memory  from  that  which  they  hold  in 
yours.  Three  months  ago  my  cousin  lost  her  dog. 
You  know  how  she  feels  about  Clyde.  I  need  not 
dwell  on  that.  He  was  missing  a  week.  I  should 
be  sorry  to  stand  by  again  and  see  her  undergo 
what  she  did  that  week.  There  are  people  who  will 

53 


THOUGH    LIFE   US   DO    PART 

understand  and  respect  her  feeling,  but  I  realize, 
of  course,  that  this  cannot  be  expected  of  you.  I 
offered  my  services,  —  there  was  no  one  else  to 
help  her,  —  and  everything  that  family  affection, 
time,  energy,  ingenuity,  and  money  could  do  to 
trace  the  dog  was  done ;  perhaps  on  a  larger  scale 
than  is  usual  in  such  cases.  I  did  the  best  I  could. 
I  'm  rather  fond  of  Clyde  myself.  He  's  been  in 
the  family  a  good  while.  You  know  where  and 
how  I  found  him." 

He  rose  impetuously,  and  the  two  men  stood 
facing  each  other  in  the  white  summer  night. 

"  And  you  know,"  retorted  the  vivisector,  "  that 
I  did  not  recognize  the  dog ;  they  are  so  changed, 
by  the  conditions  —  the  shaving,  and — the  gen- 
eral discomfort ;  and  Clyde  was  so  muddy  and 
disreputable  —  he  might  have  passed  for  the  veri- 
est pariah.  Do  you  suppose  I  would  have  touched 
him  if  I  had  known  he  was  hers  ?  I  'd  sooner  have 
experimented  on  one  of  the  students ! " 

"  When  I  found  the  dog,"  continued  Sterling 
Hart,  "  he  had  recognized  you.  Before  you  made 
your  first  incision,  he  was  trying  to  kiss  your  hand 
—  I  see  it  in  my  dreams,  yet ;  I  shall,  I  think,  for 
a  while;  the  worst  of  it  was  that  poor  Clyde  thought 
he  had  found  a  friend." 

The  preacher's  two  hands,  which  had  fallen  be- 
fore him,  were  clenched  together ;  his  large  fingers 

54 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

showed  in  the  moonlight  purple  from  the  knuckles 
to  the  tips. 

"  Do  you  suppose  if  she  knew,"  he  demanded, 
"  if  she  knew  —  " 

"  A  mistake  !  A  misfortune  !  A  wretched  acci- 
dent !  "  cried  the  vivisector.  "  Why  need  she  ever 
know?  " 

"  Why  ?  "  replied  the  preacher,  in  a  low,  vibrant 
tone.  "  To  spare  her  from  the  same  fate,  —  from 
the  most  distant  possibility  of  it,  I  mean." 

The  physiologist  sprang,  and  for  the  instant  it 
seemed  as  if  he  would  have  struck  his  pastor  — 
man  to  man.  But  he  controlled  and  recovered 
himself. 

"  You  take  advantage  of  your  cloth,"  he  mut- 
tered. "  What  do  you  expect  me  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  expected  you  to  answer  just  as  you  have," 
replied  Mr.  Hart,  quite  undisturbed.  "  It  is  un- 
avoidable, perhaps.  So  is  the  cause  of  offense 
which  I  have  felt  compelled  to  give  you.  You  do 
not  know  my  cousin,"  the  clergyman  hurried  on 
with  evidences  of  deep  emotion.  "  It  is  not  in  your 
nature  to  understand  her.  She  is  not  like  other 
women  —  not  like  most  of  them.  She  is  —  she  has 
a  sensitiveness,  a  capacity  for  suffering  that  I  — 
that  you  —  There  are  so  many  ways  of  doing  it ! 
It  is  true  that  I  am,  as  I  am  likely  to  remain,  a 
lonely  man.    You  need  not  remind  me  of  that. 

55 


THOUGH    LIFE   US   DO    PART 

But  you  may  not  understand  what  confidences 
men  and  women  give  their  pastors.  I  know  some- 
thing what  the  risks  of  marriage  are.  A  man  may 
vivisect  a  woman  nerve  by  nerve,  anguish  by  an- 
guish, as  truly  as  if  he  put  the  scalpel  to  the  tissue. 
And  nobody  knows  it.    She  never  cries  out  —  " 

"  Nobody  knows  it  except  her  clergyman,"  shot 
back  Frost,  with  a  vitriolic  glance. 

"  Or  her  physician,"  responded  Mr.  Hart,  plea- 
santly. "We  strike  the  confessional  out  of  the 
account." 

"  Go  on,"  came  grimly  from  the  physiologist. 

"  I  am  going  on,"  firmly  said  the  clergyman.  "  I 
am  going  on  to  tell  you,  Thomas  Frost,  that  he 
must  be  a  tenderer  man  than  you  are  who  shall 
win  a  heart  like  hers  and  take  her  life  into  his 
keeping." 

Dr.  Frost  looked  out  to  sea  with  dark,  averted 
face ;  his  lips  twitched. 

"  I  take  it  for  granted  that  you  would  rather 
give  up  —  whatever  chance  you  suppose  yourself 
to  have  with  her  —  than  to  have  her  know  ? "  said 
Cara's  cousin,  quietly. 

"  Rather  than  to  have  her  know  —  yes.  I  would 
give  her  up." 

"  I  need  no  other  justification  of  what  I  have 
done  than  that  reply,"  said  the  preacher,  distinctly. 
"  Forgive  me  or  not,  as  you  choose.    I  can  hardly 

56 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

expect  that  you  ever  will ;  but  that  is  a  secondary- 
matter.  My  impressions  are,  however,  that  you  will 
see  that  I  had  no  escape  from  this  ;  and  that  you, 
in  my  place,  would  have  done  the  same." 

"  Perhaps  I  should,"  said  Frost,  with  a  forced, 
nervous  smile.  "  Mr.  Hart,"  he  added,  "  you  strike 
the  villain  out  of  the  play  in  the  first  act.  It  does  n't 
seem  to  me  good  art." 

"  It 's  good  conscience,  at  all  events.  And  good 
art  and  good  conscience  are  one,  to  my  thinking," 
replied  the  preacher,  more  softly.  "  I  could  see  no 
other  way.  I  have  thought  it  all  through,  as  I  told 
you." 

He  spoke  sadly,  and  seemed  suddenly  very  tired. 
The  overwrought,  overwearied  modern  look  on  his 
sturdy,  antique  features  seemed  curiously  out  of 
place.  He  had  the  physiognomy  of  a  man  for  whom 
Nature  meant  life  to  be  "  a  Roman  holiday  " ;  one 
who  should  have  drawn  his  breath  in  joy,  and 
raised  his  prayers  to  beauty,  and  worn  the  civic 
laurels  of  a  happy  state  in  ease  of  heart. 

"  And  yet,"  pleaded  the  experimenter,  with  an 
obvious  effort  to  turn  the  interview  from  the  pain- 
ful personal  form  which  it  had  taken,  "we  are  con- 
scientious, too.  We  do  not  act  from  brutal  motives. 
As  a  university  man  you  must  know  us  well  enough 
to  know  that  the  development  of  Science  —  "  He 
paused; 

57 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO    PART 

"  Yes,"  said  Sterling  Hart,  "  I  used  to  feel  just 
so.  I  know  the  point  of  view.  There  are  others, 
that's  air 

"  You  are  not  going  against  us ! "  exclaimed 
Frost,  quickly.  "  You  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  mastered  the  question,"  replied  the 
preacher,  thoughtfully.  "  I  am  a  pretty  busy  man. 
But  I  mean  to,  as  soon  as  I  can.  It  may  be  as  im- 
portant as  the  church  calendar  —  who  knows?" 

"  You  trip  at  the  personal  equation,"  said  Dr. 
Frost,  bitterly. 

"  There  are  subjects  which  it  takes  the  personal 
equation  to  manage.  Nothing  else  can,"  answered 
Sterling  Hart.  "  Good-night,  Frost,"  he  said  gently, 
as  he  went  up  the  steps. 

"  Be  careful  in  case  Clyde  is  about  anywhere," 
he  added,  with  genuine  concern.  "  Sometimes  he 
gets  out  these  bright  nights.  I  should  be  sorry  to 
have  you  hurt.    Better  go  home  by  the  road." 

The  physiologist  ground  his  teeth,  but  took  the 
advice.  He  pulled  his  hat  over  his  eyes,  and  got 
savagely  away. 

He  paced  the  road  aimlessly  for  a  time,  unable 
to  collect  himself.  The  vortex  into  which  his  calm, 
cold  nature  was  plunged  astonished  him.  He  found 
himself  in  a  condition  which  he  did  not  know  how 
to  demonstrate  and  could  not  classify.  In  the  course 
of  an  equable  and  healthy  life  he  had  experienced 

58 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

so  little  discomfort  of  mind  or  body  that  he  was 
puzzled  by  it.  Pain  was  a  blatant  stranger,  forcing 
itself  upon  him  without  an  apology.  Instinctively 
he  had  turned  in  the  opposite  direction  from  the 
preachers  house,  and  this  led  him  past  the  wooded 
avenue  of  the  Sterling  place.  It  was  a  large  estate, 
of  which  the  Reverend  Mr.  Hart's  had  originally 
been  a  portion,  and  it  extended  across  the  road 
among  some  soft  meadow  land  and  pretty  woodlots 
of  a  mythical  value.  A  small  cottage,  white,  like  the 
Sterling  mansion,  and  half  on  fire  with  climbing 
nasturtiums,  leaned  back  a  little  from  the  road ;  it 
had  a  homelike,  cosy  air,  attractive  to  a  quiet  taste, 
beside  the  stately  places  among  which  it  stood 
almost  alone.  This  cottage,  sometimes  held  open 
for  the  convenience  of  relatives  or  friends,  some- 
times rented  to  an  irreproachable  summer  tenant, 
had  by  a  freak  of  fate  slipped  that  season  into  the 
surprising  tenancy  of  Miss  Mab  Miller  and  her 
mother. 

As  the  physiologist  passed  it,  the  champion 
came  out  and  hailed  him  with  the  air  of  bon  cama- 
raderie, in  which  she  was  inevitable. 

"  Are  n't  you  going  ?  "  she  demanded.  "  Put 
about  and  come  with  me." 

"  Certainly  I  am  going,"  replied  Frost,  "  if  you 
will  be  so  good  as  to  tell  me  where." 

"  Did  n't  Douce  Marriot  ask  you  ?  "  asked  Miss 
59 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

Miller.  "  I  thought  she  always  did.  /  was  n't  in- 
vited to  dinner;  I  'm  not  often.  But  I  'm  expected 
as  an  evening  feature.  Are  you  an  evening  feature, 
too?" 

"  I  'd  forgotten  all  about  it !  "  exclaimed  Frost. 
"  I  don't  know  whether  I  'm  altogether  dressed  for 
it.    But  I  've  half  a  mind  —  " 

"  I  can  lend  you  a  four-in-hand  and  a  shirt 
waist,"  suggested  the  champion.  "  Go  in  and  ask 
Mother  for  them  if  you  want  to.  No  ?  Well,  come 
along,  then  !  Where  's  the  odds  ?  " 

He  fell  into  step  with  the  champion's  long  stride. 
The  golf  girl  was  demurely  dressed,  like  other 
girls;  and  her  silk  and  chiffon  which  she  wore, 
hung  manfully  over  one  arm  to  keep  her  trailing 
skirt  from  the  dust,  gave  her  an  air  as  astonishing 
as  a  spectacular  metamorphosis  in  a  play.  She  did 
not  talk  golf,  and  was  sparing  of  her  slang. 

The  surgeon  found  her  altogether  possible,  and 
with  no  undue  struggles  to  escape,  accompanied 
her  to  Mrs.  Marriot's.  The  golf  girl  accepted  his 
escort  without  a  perceptible  flutter.  It  did  not 
seem  to  matter  to  her  whether  he  went  or  not. 
She  would  have  been  rather  a  pretty  girl  if  she 
had  not  been  so  red. 

Douce  Marriot  received  Dr.  Frost  cordially. 
She  had  not  seen  him  at  her  house  for  some  time; 
but  she  did  not  commit  the  mistake  of  reminding 

60 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

him  of  the  fact.  He  used  to  be  one  of  what  she 
called  "  her  young  friends."  But  that  was  when  he 
was  a  very  young  man.  She  treated  him  with  the 
discretion  of  a  woman  who  knows  that  a  man  has 
outgrown  her,  but  with  the  art  of  one  who  per- 
ceives that  he  has  never  really  attained  to  a  plane 
so  much  above  her  own  that  she  need  feel  any 
harrowing  concern  about  his  spiritual  evolution. 
The  hidden  musicians  in  the  garden  were  playing 
a  Strauss  waltz. 

"  Be  a  jolly  good  fellow,"  said  Douce  Marriot, 
with  that  touch  of  the  maternal  which  no  one 
knew  better  than  she  when  to  assume,  "  and  have 
a  rousing  time.  I  should  say  you  needed  it.  What? 
Well,  if  you  are  going  to  assume  that  St.  Anthony 
expression  (it  is  n't  natural  to  your  type)  you  'd 
better  go  home." 

"  I  can't,"  said  Frost,  with  a  rigid  smile.  "  I  Ve 
got  to  wait  for  Miss  Miller." 


CHAPTER  V 

When  Dane  leaped  from  his  bicycle  at  the  end  of 
the  long  avenue  he  found  the  household  aroused 
and  stirring  anxiously.  Kathleen  conducted  him 
through  the  dark  drawing-room.  The  patient's 
room  seemed  almost  painfully  bright  as  he  came 
into  it.  The  bed  was  pushed  out  into  the  draft, 
and  Miss  Sterling  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  mattress, 
in  a  fixed  and  uncomfortable  position,  holding  her 
father  to  the  air.  When  he  saw  how  sick  a  man 
he  had  to  deal  with,  the  heart  of  the  young  doctor 
sank.  He  thought:  "  Here  's  the  devil's  luck.  The 
first  patient  I  lose  in  Balsam,  —  and  her  father !  " 
But  he  said  nothing,  and  went  manfully  to  work. 
Mr.  Sterling  was  unconscious  when  the  doctor 
reached  him. 

"  Telephone  to  his  town  physician,"  commanded 
Dane,  in  a  sharp  voice,  when  he  had  stimulated 
for  fifteen  minutes.  "  Tell  Dr.  Strang  to  come  out 
on  the  milk  train,  or  take  a  special  if  he  can  get 
one.  Tell  him  I  think  it  best." 

Cara  obeyed  without  a  word.  The  long-distance 
telephone  desk  stood  in  the  library.  She  returned 
in  a  short  time,  and  said,  "  He  will  come."    She 

62 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

put  her  shaking  hand  on  Dane's  arm,  and  lifted 
her  lips  to  his  ear.    They  formed  the  words :  — 

11  Is  my  father  dying  ?  "  It  was  the  first  question 
she  had  asked.  Dane  shook  his  head  positively. 

"Every  beat  of  the  heart  is  stronger.  I  have 
nothing  but  hope  —  nothing!  But  you  will  feel 
better — however  it  turns  out — to  have  Dr.  Strang 
here.    I  am  a  young  and  inexperienced  man." 

"  I  trust  you  the  more  for  your  saying  that,"  said 
Cara,  clearly. 

"  Then  I  thank  you,"  answered  Dane,  without 
looking  at  her.  He  was  now  absorbed  in  curt,  pro- 
fessional orders,  which  he  shot  at  her.  Hand  him 
that  nitro-glycerine.  No,  not  the  nitrate  of  amyll — 
the  other.  Send  Kathleen  for  more  hot  bags.  Send 
Tibbs —  No,  she  'd  better  telephone  herself.  "  Call 
up  the  hospital.  Tell  them  to  send  the  trained 
nurse  who  brought  the  Methodist  minister  out  of 
heart  failure  in  that  pneumonia  case,  j  I  forget  her 
name,  —  Gray  or  Green,  —  it  was  something  col- 
ored.   Have  her  here  in  half  an  hour." 

When  Cara  returned  from  the  telephone  the 
second  time  the  light  leaped  into  her  wan  eyes. 

"He  is  better!"  she  breathed.  "I  see  a  great 
difference." 

"  Do  you  ?  "  said  Dane,  cautiously.  "  I  see  some 
myself."  He  worked  on  with  the  scrupulous  con- 
scientiousness, the  ardent  patience,  and  the  undis- 

63 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

ciplined  and  wilful  hope  which  sometimes  give  to 
a  very  young  practitioner  the  advantage  over  a 
wiser  and  sadder  man.  His  patient  responded  to 
his  treatment  with  a  slow  but  steady  improvement, 
which  made  the  young  physician's  heart  bound  in 
his  body.  It  would  have  been  difficult  for  almost 
any  other  unknown  and  struggling  doctor  of  his 
rank  and  training  to  understand  how  small  a  pro- 
portion of  this  emotion  in  Chanceford  Dane  could 
be  called  professional  fervor.  In  point  of  fact,  he 
was  as  nearly  destitute  of  professional  ambition  as 
a  man  could  well  be  and  hold  the  diploma  of  a 
great  school.  Yet  he  did  that  night  a  superb  piece 
of  work,  with  a  brilliant  force  that  a  distinguished 
colleague  might  have  envied. 

He  who  was  accustomed  to  say  to  his  own  soul 
that  he  had  not  a  scientific  cell  in  his  brain  seemed 
to  himself  like  a  scientific  seer  suddenly  lifted 
among  the  stars,  and  in  the  ether  of  a  sublimated 
career.  He  breathed  a  rarefied  atmosphere,  be- 
side which  professional  ambition  was  a  paltry  and 
vulgar  thing. 

He  was  aware  of  every  motion  that  she  made,  of 
every  breath  that  she  drew.  Her  candid  eyes  dwelt 
on  him  with  a  growing  wonder,  respect,  and  gen- 
tleness. He  could  feel  her  trust  like  a  chrism  on 
his  unworthy  head.  Her  touching  gratitude  rose 
about  him  wave  by  wave,  like  the  tide  of  a  sacred 

64 


THOUGH    LIFE   US    DO   PART 

sea.  He  was  overwhelmed  by  a  sense  of  her  near- 
ness, her  rarity,  her  clearness.  All  that  night  they 
stood  together,  shoulder  to  shoulder,  hand  to  hand, 
like  science  and  tenderness  —  oh,  dare  to  dream, 
like  son  and  daughter !  —  fighting  for  the  old  man's 
life.  He  thought  how  he  had  been  troubled  because 
his  afternoon  with  her  had  been  spoiled  and  cut 
short.  A  hundred  drives  could  not  have  overcome 
a  span  of  the  distance  between  them  as  this  half- 
night's  solemn  privilege  had  done.  A  dozen  sea- 
sons in  a  drawing-room  might  have  held  him  off 
at  her  heart's  length.  He  might  have  come  in  and 
out,  a  chosen  family  friend,  for  years  before  her, 
and  yet  have  stood  farther  from  her,  as  souls  mea- 
sure space,  than  he  stood  as  the  moonlight  and 
the  dawn  struggled  together  upon  the  sea  that 
night.  At  half-past  one  he  said  to  her :  — 

"  The  danger  is  passing." 

At  two :  — 

"  He  will  live." 

At  half-past  two,  the  nurse  (who  had  been  de- 
layed by  some  mistake)  arrived. 

"  Has  Dr.  Strang  been  here  ? "  she  asked  at 
once. 

"  The  case  is  in  Dr.  Dane's  hands,"  answered 
Cara,  with  a  certain  pride  which  she  made  no 
effort  to  conceal.  The  nurse  —  she  proved  to  be 
a  Miss  Black  —  looked  more  surprised  than  she 

65 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

knew  she  ought  to  look,  but  received  the  young 
physician's  orders  with  more  respect  than  she  had 
expected  to  feel.  She  got  to  her  post  with  despatch 
and  an  admirable  skill ;  and  the  sick  man,  breath- 
ing feebly  but  evenly,  slept. 

The  daughter  and  the  doctor  looked  at  each 
other  with  a  glad  gravity.  Each  drew  a  long,  full 
breath.  Cara  felt  her  head  whirl  a  little,  and  turned 
instinctively  towards  the  low  window  which  opened 
on  the  piazza  towards  the  sea. 

"  Miss  Sterling,"  whispered  the  nurse, "  you  will 
take  cold." 

Then  Cara,  looking  down,  flushed  faintly  from 
her  forehead  to  her  chin.  She  had  forgotten  how 
thinly  clad  she  was,  in  the  hastily  caught  clothes 
she  had  thrown  on  when  her  father's  bell  sum- 
moned her  two  hours  and  a  half  ago.  She  glanced 
at  her  bare  feet  in  their  rose-pink  leather  slippers. 
Her  tumbled  hair  hung  in  two  braids  down  her 
back,  like  a  little  girl's.  Her  long,  white  woolen 
gown  took  heavy  folds  such  as  marble  takes,  and 
draped  her  like  a  statue. 

"  I  '11  give  it  up,  then,"  she  said,  shrinking. 

"  Go  back  and  wrap  yourself  up,  and  come," 
commanded  the  doctor.  "  It  is  just  what  you  need. 
Air  first,  —  then  food,  —  then  sleep." 

Cara  obeyed  him  gratefully.  She  hurried  into 
some  stockings  and  wool-lined  shoes,  and,  folded 

66 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 


in  a  long,  hooded,  gray  cloak,  whose  fluttering 
white  fur  fringe  fell  from  throat  to  foot,  she  stole 
out.  Dane  put  her  into  a  steamer  chair,  and  cov- 
ered her  with  a  blanket,  which  he  seemed  to  have 
brought  out  for  the  purpose. 

"  Get  the  doctor  something  to  eat,  Kathleen," 
she  said,  "  and  go  straight  to  bed.  I  shall  do  the 
same  in  ten  minutes.  And  you  ?  "  she  asked,  turn- 
ing her  sweet,  haggard  face  to  the  young  physician. 

"I  shall  not  go  farther  from  him  than  this, 
until  Strang  comes.    I  must  see  Dr.  Strang." 

Kathleen  brought  milk  and  sandwiches,  and 
went  away.  Miss  Black  did  not  move.  The  sick 
man  slept. 

"So  few  people  think  to  offer  a  doctor  any 
nourishment,  — even  in  long,  hard  cases,"  said 
Dane,  gratefully.  "You  wouldn't  believe  how 
rare  it  is." 

Within  the  house  and  without  it  was  so  still 
that  it  seemed  an  offense  to  speak.  Dane  found 
himself  whispering  as  one  whispers  in  the  pre- 
sence of  some  great  and  solemn  function,  if  one 
speak  at  all.  He  had  a  commendable  idea  of 
bringing  the  girl's  mind  and  heart  down  out  of 
the  strain  where  they  had  clung  all  night.  But 
his  words  seemed  so  trivial  to  him  that  he  was 
ashamed  of  them  as  soon  as  they  were  out. 

It  was  almost  three  o'clock.  The  scent  of  com- 
67 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO    PART 

ing  dawn  was  on  the  leaves  and  blades  of  grass. 
A  stir  of  expectancy  thrilled  and  filled  the  sum- 
mer world.  It  was  as  if  the  sky  spoke,  and  the 
earth  listened,  and  the  ocean  witnessed  a  vast 
miracle  as  imposing  and  as  absorbing  as  it  was 
when  the  evening  and  the  morning  were  the  first 
day.  It  seemed  to  him  as  if  he  had  never  seen 
the  sun  rise  before.  In  point  of  fact,  it  was  a 
common  experience  with  him.  But  Cara  so  sel- 
dom saw  the  day  break  that  she  looked  on  it  with 
the  eyes  of  Eve  and  the  sensibilities  of  Eden. 

"  You  have  saved  my  father's  life  !  "  she  breathed. 
Her  eyes  brimmed  slowly.  The  prelude  to  the 
dawn  was  on  her  face  as  she  turned  it,  looking  at 
him  half  timidly.  Her  profile  was  cut  delicately 
on  the  rose  lining  of  her  hood.  The  white  fur  on 
her  throat  and  breast  stirred  with  her  breath.  Her 
gray  cloak  wrapped  her  as  if  it  had  been  chain 
armor  of  fine,  woven  steel. 

Though  he  had  thrown  himself  at  her  feet  and 
worshiped  her,  he  felt  that  he  could  no  more 
have  touched  her  than  he  could  a  ladv  of  glamour 
and  romance,  with  armies  at  her  call,  and  nations 
fighting  for  her  smile.  It  seemed  to  him  as  if 
poets  might  have  sung  of  her  until  they  died,  and 
dreamers  dreamed  of  her  until  they  awoke,  and 
any  man  and  all  men  contended  for  her,  and 
never  won  her,  and  loved  her  none  the  less  for 

68 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

that,  but  held  her  in  their  hearts  forever,  unclasped, 
unkissed,  inviolate,  very  woman  of  very  woman, 
as  he  had  called  her  in  his  own  devout  thoughts 
—  the  eidolon  of  all  that  is  human  and  high,  ten- 
der, and  remote;  a  woman  to  make  a  man  all  that 
he  might  be,  and  not  to  scorn  him  for  what  he 
was.  Yes,  and  to  make  and  to  leave  him  a  better 
man  forever,  though  he  never  won  her,  but  stood 
afar  off,  and  dared  not  lift  up  so  much  as  his  eyes 
unto  the  heaven  of  her  love. 

In  such  measures  and  in  such  images  the  young 
man  dreamed.  For  he  was  a  man,  and  young. 
And  she  was  the  sweetest  woman  he  had  ever 
known.  So  they  sat  together,  side  by  side,  spent 
with  vigil,  set  apart  by  a  shared  and  solemn  ex- 
perience. Then,  while  they  watched  the  sea,  not 
speaking  to  each  other,  the  sunburst  flashed  into 
her  face.  She  got  to  her  feet  like  a  Mussulman 
at  prayer,  and  stood  with  her  hands  outstretched. 

"  I  was  thinking,"  she  whispered,  "  that  he  might 
never  have  seen  any  more  sunshine.  .  .  .  Dear 
Papa!" 

He  looked  at  her  without  answering.  He  saw 
her  lip  tremble.  She  put  out  her  hand.  He  took 
it,  and  bowed  his  head  above  it. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  say  to  you,"  pleaded 
Cara,  as  if  she  were  a  child  at  fault.  "  But  I  feel  —  "  . 

"Don't  try!"  he  said. 

69 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 


She  left  her  hand  lying  trustfully,  and  it  ap- 
peared quite  contentedly,  in  his.  His  lips  touched, 
but  did  not  press  it.  She  removed  it  slowly. 

"  I  must  go  in,"  she  hesitated. 

"  Go  right  to  sleep,"  he  answered,  in  a  resolute 
tone.  "  Sleep  until  we  call  you.  You  don't  realize 
how  much  you  need  it." 

"And  you?"  She  turned,  in  the  long,  low  win- 
dow, looking  back. 

"Oh,  I'm  used  to  it,"  urged  Dane,  smiling. 
"  But  you  have  n't  any  diploma." 

The  birds  were  now  singing  madly.  Every  tree 
thrilled.  The  dipping  sails,  elusive  and  mysterious, 
were  cut  in  cloth  of  gold  or  in  pale  crimson  tapes- 
try. The  June  flowers  in  the  garden,  drenched  in 
dew,  offered  a  wonderful  perfume.  The  scent  of 
seaweed  came  up,  for  it  was  half  tide. 

The  whistle  of  the  milk  train  shrilled  along  the 
valley,  between  the  woodlands  and  the  village.  As 
the  two  stood  listening,  it  panted  into  the  station, 
and  stopped. 

"  There  's  Dr.  Strang,"  said  Dane.  "  I  '11  meet 
him  at  the  avenue.  I  hope  Tibbs  was  on  time 
with  the  carriage."  He  stepped  in  through  the 
piazza  window  after  her,  scrutinizing  his  patient, 
and  slipped  away.  The  nurse  sat  immovable  be- 
side the  bed.  She  nodded  brightly  at  Miss  Ster- 
ling. Cara  looked  at  her  father  longingly,  but  did 

70 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

not  venture  to  approach  him.  He  slept  peacefully, 
and  his  breathing  was  quite  regular.  She  slid  into 
her  white  room,  and  shut  the  door. 

When  she  awoke  it  was  late  morning,  for  she 
had  heavily  overslept,  and  no  one  had  aroused  her. 
She  wondered  how  she  could  have  done  it,  throw- 
ing off  everything  on  the  doctor,  like  a  child.  She 
hurried  out  remorsefully;  her  father,  with  the 
quick  recuperation  of  his  malady,  was  sitting  up 
against  his  pillows,  happily  watching  for  her  door 
to  open.  The  nurse  sat  smiling.  Dr.  Dane  was 
gone.  Dr.  Strang  had  returned  to  town. 

"And  he  says  he  couldn't  have  done  better 
himself.  He  says  you  don't  need  to  send  for  him 
another  time."  Miss  Black  hastened  to  proffer  this 
intelligence  with  a  certain  half-amused  but  wholly 
deferent  sense  of  its  acceptability. 

When  Cara,  in  her  fresh  dimity,  with  her  shin- 
ing eyes,  went  out  to  her  breakfast,  she  saw 
through  the  open  front  door  a  titanic  figure  sit- 
ting humbly  on  the  piazza  steps.  Sterling  Hart 
rose  and  stood  bareheaded. 

"  Cousin  Carolyn,"  he  said  reproachfully,  "  why 
did  n't  you  send  Tibbs  for  me  last  night  ?  " 

"  Why,  Papa  was  so  very  sick  —  and  I  had  n't 
time  to  think  —  and  I  thought — and  the  doctor 
came  —  and  there  seemed  to  be  nothing  you  could 
do."  She  stumbled  over  her  words.  The  truth  was 

7i 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 


that  it  had  not  occurred  to  her.  She  had  not 
thought  of  her  cousin,  on  whose  massive  devotion 
to  the  family  she  had  leaned  ever  since  her  mother 
died ;  she  had  not  once  thought  of  him  all  night 
long.  Leaning  becomes  a  matter  of  course;  and 
the  solid  surface  behind  us,  whether  granite  wall 
or  porphyry  pillar,  whether  iron  bar  or  gate  of  pearl, 
melts  into  the  consciousness  like  the  atmosphere, 
and  may  be  treated  accordingly. 

Dane,  on  the  contrary,  got  no  sleep  at  all.  His 
eyes  were  brilliant  and  feverish,  his  brain  ablaze. 
He  needed  neither  food  nor  sleep. 

For  he  on  honey  dew  had  fed, 
And  drunk  the  milk  of  Paradise. 

After  the  consultation  he  went  to  the  station 
with  Dr.  Strang,  and  then  took  a  short  cut  across 
the  fields  directly  to  his  boarding-house.  All  he 
wanted  was  to  be  alone,  and  stay  alone  until  he 
could  clarify  his  thoughts.  Up  to  this  moment  it 
could  be  scarcely  said  that  he  thought  at  all.  His 
feeling  mastered  him  like  a  storm  of  wind. 

His  professional  success  in  last  night's  emer- 
gency—  the  evident  impression  it  had  made  on 
his  eminent  city  colleague  —  absorbed  the  smallest 
possible  measure  of  his  attention. 

A  girl  in  a  long,  gray,  hooded  cloak  seemed  to 
float  in  the  morning  air  before  him.  She  kept  a 

72 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

little  way  ahead  all  the  time,  like  those  allegorical 
figures  that  one  sees  in  old  pictures  which  set 
forth  the  battle  of  life  or  the  pursuit  of  fortune. 
The  white  fur  fringe  on  her  throat  and  breast 
stirred  with  her  gentle  breath.  Her  eyes,  gray  blue 
and  candid,  lifted  themselves  to  him  timidly.  Her 
hand,  a  marvel  of  perfume  and  velvet,  lay  in  his. 

For  him,  he  held  his  young  head  like  one  of 
the  gods ;  his  eyes,  seeing  nothing,  looked  straight 
before  him ;  and  his  lithe  figure  swung  across  the 
meadow  with  a  vibrant,  beautiful  buoyancy.  He 
trod  on  the  morning  clouds. 

Seeing  nothing,  and  coming  up  against  the 
stone  wall  bounding  a  little  side  road  which  led  to 
a  wharf,  a  stable,  and  a  boathouse,  he  had  all  but 
stumbled  over  the  prostrate  figure  of  a  man.  Ut- 
tering no  exclamation,  for  he  was  poised  in  some 
star  where  a  man  did  not  find  it  natural  to  swear, 
Dane  stopped  and  turned  the  figure  over,  so  that 
the  day  fell  fully  on  its  face. 

It  was  Timothy  George,  the  caterer.  His  men 
were  feeding  the  horses  in  the  stable.  A  boy  was 
washing  the  team,  from  which  the  signs  of  Mrs. 
Marriot's  entertainment  were  not  yet  entirely  re- 
moved. George  himself  was  quite  drunk.  Nobody 
seemed  to  think  it  necessary  to  pay  any  attention 
to  him,  and  Dane,  on  reflection,  concluded  that 
he  was  not  called  upon  to  trouble  himself  about 

73 


THOUGH  LIFE   US   DO   PART 


the  fellow.  But  he  did  say,  "  Poor  Nannie ! "  im- 
pulsively, aloud. 

"  Hey  ?  "  muttered  George,  rousing  stupidly  at 
the  word.  "What  the  blank —  Doncher  tell 
Nan,"  he  muttered,  and  relapsed  into  a  comfort- 
able stupor. 

Dane  walked  away,  touched  with  merciless  dis- 
gust. It  seemed  to  him  almost  a  profanation  of 
his  own  sublimated  experience  that  he  should 
have  happened  upon  so  vulgar  and  debased  a  scene. 
He  hurried  as  fast  as  possible  from  the  caterer, 
got  himself  into  his  office  without  seeing  any  one, 
and  locked  the  door  upon  his  ecstasy. 


CHAPTER   VI 

June  blossomed  into  July,  and  July  blazed  into  Au- 
gust. It  was  a  severe  summer,  but  Balsam  Groves 
knew  little  or  nothing  about  that.  To  a  shielded 
class,  fortunate  with  most  of  the  other  privileges  of 
life,  was  given  the  elect  of  luxuries,  that  of  being 
able  to  keep  cool  in  hot  weather.  Even  the  re- 
flected discomfort  of  those  who  could  n't  was  spared 
one.  The  cooks  were  downstairs.  And  nobody 
else  on  the  East  Shore  looked  too  warm. 

Life  touched  these  pleasant  people  lightly;  on 
its  surface,  at  all  events.  With  the  exception  of  one 
or  two  stragglers, —  it  was  remembered  that  Tracie 
Benton  had  unexpectedly  sailed  for  England,  and 
that  Dr.  Frost  had  engagements  in  Bar  Harbor, 
—  the  usual  groups  were  quite  unbroken,  and 
their  familiar  faces  appeared  at  the  usual  round  of 
things.  The  Country  Club  fell  headlong  into  a  gulf 
of  golf  and  polo.  Society  in  the  artfully  artless 
water-front  houses  plunged  into  a  series  of  enter- 
tainments but  recently  favored  in  Balsam  Groves, 
whose  earlier  summers  had  been  more  simply 
passed.  The  late  dinners,  the  later  dances,  the  elab- 
orate ceremonies  and  toilettes  of  town,  replaced  the 

75 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

inadequate  aspirations  of  years  when  guests,  and 
not  too  many  of  them,  were  expected  to  take  their 
hall  candles  by  ten  o'clock,  when  ladies  found  it 
the  correct  thing  to  affect  plain  wash  gowns  and 
broad  shade  hats,  to  cultivate  the  acquaintance  of 
one's  children,  to  spend  the  evenings  with  one's 
husband,  —  in  extreme  cases,  even  alone  with  him, 
—  and  to  contemplate  life  without  a  kitchen  maid, 
or  a  footman. 

Douce  Marriot  did  not  call  her  villa  a  cottage, 
and  her  personal  amusements  were  cast  on  the 
scale  of  an  establishment  luxurious  even  in  Balsam 
Groves.  These  diversions  were  as  elaborate  as 
her  decorations,  and  as  lavish  as  her  check  book ; 
while  she  guided  them  within  the  geometry  of  the 
respectable,  her  standards  of  decorum  were  her 
own.  She  had  no  summer,  but  a  "  season."  Men 
who  knew  her  were  divided  into  three  kinds, — • 
those  who  shunned,  those  who  followed,  and  those 
who  cursed.  Women  did  not  love,  yet  they  did 
not  remove  her ;  she  was  far  from  declassee. 

"Do  you  know  her?"  asked  Dane  one  day, 
when  he  had  driven  over  from  a  professional  visit 
on  a  picturesque  neuralgia  of  Mrs.  Marriot's  to 
see  the  chronic  patient  whose  case  had  added  to 
the  young  physician's  practice  in  Balsam  Groves. 
"  She  seems  a  kind-hearted,  light-headed  woman." 

Cara  was  struck  with  Dane's  definition,  and  its 
76 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 


tone.  Both  belonged  to  a  man  more  accustomed 
to  a  complicated  social  life  than  she  had  allowed 
herself  to  suppose  that  Dane's  had  been. 

"  Oh,  I  know  her  as  we  all  do,"  said  Cara,  hesi- 
tating. "  Mamma  did  not  like  to  have  me  go  there. 
And  Papa  does  not  like  to  have  her  come  here." 

In  truth,  Miss  Sterling  belonged  to  a  class  of 
people  who  did  not  discuss  Mrs.  Marriot. 

"  I  am  not  to  the  manner  born  with  this  Northern 
society,"  said  Dane,  frankly.  "  It  puzzles  me  some- 
times. I  was  brought  up  anyhow,"  he  added  almost 
roughly,  "  not  like  you." 

He  leaned  towards  her,  with  the  unmistakable 
look.   Hers  dropped  before  it. 

"  I  am  going  to  tell  you  about  it  —  about  my- 
self," he  persisted.  "  I  am  going  to  tell  you  every- 
thing before  long." 

Cara  did  not  answer,  and  his  peremptory  tone 
melted  to  entreaty. 

"  May  I  ? "  he  asked,  humbly. 

"  I  have  sometimes  wished  you  would,"  said 
Cara,  lifting  her  clear  eyes. 

"  You  may  not  find  the  sketch  available,"  pro- 
tested Dane,  with  a  forced  smile.  "  That  is  what 
the  editors  say  when  they  return  your  manu- 
script." 

"  Do  you  write  ?  "  asked  Cara,  with  unconcealed 
astonishment.    Her  friends  did  not;  except  her 

77 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

cousin  Sterling,  when  he  published  sermons  and 
addresses.  The  idea  was  not  without  the  interest 
of  novelty  to  her.  If  she  had  been  a  daughter  of 
the  literary  or  professional  ranks,  she  would  have 
thought :  "  Oh,  here  's  another !  " 

"Sometimes,"  answered  Dane,  lightly.  "When 
anybody  will  print,  that  is ;  it 's  a  sort  of  rest  to 
me.  I  hate  medicine.  I  always  did." 

"  Why?  "  demanded  Cara,  gravely. 

"  I  don't  know."  Dane  shook  his  head.  "  I  was 
made  that  way." 

"  And  yet,"  urged  Cara,  "  you  are  so  successful. 
My  father  thinks  —  Papa  says  you  have  a  brilliant 
future." 

"  Does  he  ?  "  asked  Dane,  rising  restlessly.  "  I 
happen  to  have  helped  him.  That's  quite  a  differ- 
ent thing.  But  I  think  I  could  go  on.  I  could  peg 
away  at  it;  I  could  amount  to  something.  But  I 
should  have  to  choose  my  conditions.  And  it 
would  n't  be  because  I  loved  what  I  was  doing.  It 
would  be  for  another  reason." 

His  eyes  met  the  gentle  perplexity  in  hers 
frankly.  He  had  known  for  weeks  that  his  time 
for  disguise  was  whirling  by.  There  was  but  a 
mask  of  golden  tissue  now  interposed  between 
his  feeling  and  his  fate. 

That  night  he  wrote  a  letter ;  the  first  that  he 
had  ever  sent  her.  It  ran,  — 

78 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

-  ^ 

My  dear  Miss  Sterling, — 

Thirty-eight  years  ago  a  South  Carolina  girl 
ran  away  and  married  an  Illinois  ranchman.  She 
was  of  spotless  character,  gentle  breeding,  and 
gentle  birth;  she  was  young,  beautiful,  and  cour- 
ageous. She  carried  herself  through  her  mismated 
marriage  like  a  queen ;  never  complained  of  her 
lot,  at  its  worst — and  the  worst  was  bad  enough 
—  and  died  the  sooner  for  her  silence  and  disdain. 
She  was  the  mother  of  two  children.  I  am  the 
elder  of  those  boys,  and  I  am  thirty-six. 

When  my  brother  (his  name  was  Clay) — when 
my  brother  and  I  were  little  fellows  we  found  her 
one  morning  lying  dead  upon  her  bed.  I  went  in 
first,  and  tried  to  make  her  speak  to  me.  Our 
father  was  away ;  he  usually  was.  He  came  home 
and  buried  her,  and  left  us  with  the  cook,  —  this 
was  in  Ohio,  —  and  when  he  came  back  again 
he  brought  us  a  stepmother.  I  think  she  was  a 
Mexican,  but  I  did  not  undergo  the  pleasure  of 
her  society  long  enough  to  find  out.  My  little 
brother  and  I  ran  away,  —  it  was  in  the  blood,  you 
see,  —  and  tumbled  about  the  state  for  a  while, 
starving  on  our  own  responsibility.  He  sold  news- 
papers, and  I  blacked  boots.  One  day  I  was  scrub- 
bing a  man's  shoes  (I  never  took  to  the  profession; 
not  much  more  than  I  do  to  medicine),  and  I  hurt 
him  —  he  had  the  gout  —  and  he  boxed  my  ear. 

79 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

There  was  something  so  familiar  about  this  per- 
sonal attention  that  I  looked  up  in  his  face;  and 
it  was  my  father's  face. 

"  Why,  Chance,  you  little  devil ! "  he  said.  "  And 
there  's  Clay,  upon  my  soul !  Poor  - —  little  —  Clay ! 
Why,  you  poor  little  devils !  Come  along  and  have 
some  breakfast." 

He  tucked  us  under  his  arms,  one  on  each  side, 
and  took  us  away  with  him.  We  never  resumed 
the  active  and  honorable  vocation  from  which  we 
had  been  snatched.  My  father  was  never  a  brute, 
you  know  —  to  us.  What  he  was  to  my  mother 
is  her  affair,  and  his.  I  don't  like  to  think  of 
it.  Sometimes  I  think  he  tried  to  make  it  up, — 
whatever  it  was,  —  especially  to  little  Clay.  Clay 
was  packed  off  to  some  of  Mother's  relatives  in 
Charleston,  and  he  had  a  decent  time.  They  were 
gentle  people,  but  poor  enough — like  most  of 
their  class,  war  ruined.  But  they  gave  the  little 
fellow  a  home,  and  a  bed  to  say  his  prayers  by, 
and  I  've  always  been  glad  of  it.  They  educated 
him,  too,  somehow.  Heaven  knows  how,  unless 
Father  was  behind  them.  I  think  he  must  have 
been. 

It  fell  to  me  to  rough  it.  Father's  Mexican  had 
left  him,  and  as  he  grew  older  he  sobered  down, 
and  had  attacks  of  family  feeling,  and  a  form  of 
gout  which  he  called  depression.  At  all  events,  he 

80 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO    PART 

kept  me  with  him.  I  need  not  try  your  gentle  pa- 
tience to  tell  you  how  we  lived,  or  what  we  did ; 
for  we  lived  all  ways,  and  did  most  things.  You 
would  n't  understand,  if  I  did  tell  you.  You 
couldn't.  Ranching,  railroading,  exploring,  mining 
—  they  were  all  honest  enough,  in  their  way.  Father 
kept  where  the  law  could  n't  reach  him,  always 
■ —  drank  some.  But  he  got  over  that  in  middle 
life,  which  is  an  uncommon  thing.  Then,  as  I  say, 
when  he  began  to  grow  old  he  softened.  Most 
men  do — unless  they  sour;  and  rough  men  mel- 
low sooner,  I  Ve  thought,  and  you  notice  it  more. 
Father  kept  a  certain  good  nature,  and  bonhomie. 
I  used  to  think  that  was  what  deluded  my  mother; 
he  was  a  debonair  young  fellow,  I  Ve  been  told, 
and  as  handsome  as  a  fallen  angel. 

Miss  Sterling,  I  am  writing  on  and  on  because 
I  have  not  the  courage  to  stop.  Be  patient  with 
me.  The  end  will  come  soon  enough. 

I  was  never  "  reconciled,"  as  the  relatives  say 
when  patients  die  —  I  lived  in  a  kind  of  rage,  and 
the  older  I  grew,  the  more  I  raged,  and  the  less  I 
said.  So  it  went  on,  until  I  came  to  be  nineteen. 
One  night  we  were  mining  in  Colorado ;  he  found 
me  looking  down  into  the  shaft,  and  he  asked  me 
what  I  was  up  to.  I  said  I  was  wondering  how  it 
would  feel  to  jump  down.  I  could  n't  write  his 
answer  out  to  you.    In  his  way,  he  was  an  artist 

81 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

in  language.  But  I  looked  him  in  the  eye,  and  I 
said :  — 

"  My  mother  was  a  lady.  I  don't  want  to  be  the 
kind  of  fellow  you  are.  I  'd  rather  go  down  the 
shaft." 

"  I  don't  know  but  I  'd  rather  you  would,"  he 
said.  And  he  turned  away,  and  went  to  the  hotel, 
and  shut  himself  up  in  his  room.  And  that  night 
he  called  me  to  him  at  midnight,  and  said :  — 

"  Chance,  I  've  made  my  pile  this  year.  I  don't 
know  how  long  it  will  hold  out.  But  so  long  as  it 
does,  I  '11  go  shares  with  you.  I  '11  educate  you, — 
if  you  're  worth  it.  If  you  're  not,  I  '11  throw  you 
over."  Two  hours  after  that,  at  the  dead  of  night, 
he  called  me  back  into  his  cold  room  and  began 
again  :  "  When  you  were  born,  your  mother  said  : 
1  This  baby  shall  be  a  doctor,  like  his  Uncle  Clay.' 
You  run  off  and  please  your  mother,  and  I  '11  back 
you  up  and  see  you  through."  As  you  see,  it  came 
just  nineteen  years  too  late.  I  've  been  ever  since 
trying  to  overtake  those  nineteen  years.  My  edu- 
cation has  been  a  checker-board  of  West  and  East, 
of  good  and  bad,  of  wise  and  foolish,  of  rough  and 
smooth.  He  sent  me  to  the  Chicago  preparatory 
schools;  he  put  me  through  Princeton  College; 
and  in  my  junior  year  he  died.  I  'd  begun  to  be 
fond  of  him  by  that  time,  and  I  felt  sorry,  and  I 
missed  him.   I  have  shifted  for  myself  ever  since, 

82 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

and  when  it  came  to  that,  I  was  glad  I  knew  how; 
and  thanked  my  father,  on  the  whole,  for  all  that 
training  in  "  the  University  of  the  world."  It  was 
tough  at  the  time.  But  it  tells  now.  I  've  chopped 
wood,  and  'tended  furnaces,  and  waited  at  sum- 
mer hotels.  I  have  taught  school,  and  tutored  stu- 
dents, and  reviewed  books,  and  written  leaders, 
and  been  a  writing  master,  and  given  —  God  for- 
give me  —  lessons  on  the  violin.  By  dint  of  some 
ingenuity,  and  a  fund  of  excellent  health,  I  have 
put  myself  through  the  medical  school  of  our 
powerful  and  arrogant  university;  and  have  got 
in  a  few  years  of  hospital  and  some  other  work 
before  I  quartered  myself  upon  the  helpless  in- 
habitants of  this  afflicted  village.  They  can't  ob- 
ject to  it  more  than  I  do.  If  my  mother  had  n't 
said  that  pathetic  thing  about  my  Uncle  Clay,  I 
should  n't  be  doing  it.  But  I  am. 

Miss  Sterling,  I  am  as  poor  as  your  coachman. 
And  I  am  likely  to  continue  in  that  state  into 
which  it  has  pleased  Providence  to  call  me,  for 
God  knows  how  long.  But  there  is  no  stain  upon 
my  character,  nor  upon  my  life.  If  there  were,  you 
know  as  well  as  I  do — or  I  dare  believe  you  know 
—  that  I  should  not  be  writing  this  letter  to  you. 

Miss  Sterling,  I  am  not  of  your  class.  I  am  not 
of  your  condition.  I  am  not  of  anything  that  you 
have  been  trained  to  understand  or  to  feel  an  in- 

83 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO    PART 

terest  in.  I  do  not  know  whether  I  am  even  a  gen- 
tleman, by  the  standards  to  which  you  have  been 
taught  to  defer.  I  only  know  that  I  have  that  to 
say  to  you  to  which  I  should  prefer  that  you  lis- 
tened—  if  you  were  so  gracious  to  me  as  to  listen 
at  all  —  after,  not  before,  I  have  acquainted  you 
with  these  facts.  So  here  they  are.  And  I  dare 
write  myself,  in  spite  of  them, 

Your  faithful  and  devoted  friend, 

Chanceford  Dane. 

Dane  sent  this  letter  off  desperately,  without 
giving  himself  time  to  repent  of  or  recall  it ;  and 
tried  to  cajole  himself  all  day,  because  he  had 
done  it ;  and  cursed  himself  all  night,  and  wished 
he  had  n't. 

The  next  day  he  went  about  his  business  wretch- 
edly, and  played  truant  with  his  office  hours,  and 
was  cross  to  his  patients,  for  he  had  not  the  best 
of  tempers.  He  had  a  quarrel  with  Solomon  Hops 
(which  Nannie  made  up  for  them)  on  the  untimely 
topic  of  personally  conducted  rheumatism,  and  so 
got  himself  out  of  the  chocolate  eclair  house  fret- 
fully, and  drove  about  the  village  all  the  morning, 
dividing  the  time  between  real  and  imaginary 
patients,  and  running  in  to  his  office  now  and  then 
to  see  if  any  reply  to  his  letter  had  been  sent. 
None  had.  He  knew  better  than  to  expect  any. 

84 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO    PART 

Yet  he  kept  on  darting  in  to  see,  and  driving  off 
again.  On  the  last  of  these  erratic  appearances, 
Nannie  asked  him,  if  he  met  Timothy  George, 
would  he  be  so  kind  as  to  say  —  something;  he 
forgot  what  as  soon  as  he  had  gone.  But  with  the 
mission  on  his  conscience,  towards  noon  he  drove 
down  the  road  that  ran  by  the  wharf,  the  boat- 
house,  and  the  caterer's  stable.  It  was  a  rude  road, 
hardly  more  than  a  cart  path,  and  a  sheltered 
spot.  George  was  not  there,  and  his  men  were  at 
their  dinner.  While  Dane  sat  in  his  buggy  watch- 
ing the  water,  as  people  on  the  shore  always  do 
when  other  occupations  fail,  he  heard  a  cry  of  dis- 
tress. It  was  several  times  repeated  before  he 
noticed,  not  more  than  forty-five  feet  off  the  beach, 
an  overturned  boat,  a  keel  boat,  rather  a  slight 
affair,  such  as  is  built  for  ladies'  and  children's 
use.  At  the  same  moment  he  perceived  a  human 
head  steadily  moving  towards  the  shore.  It  was 
accompanied  by  another  living  object,  whose  na- 
ture or  relation  to  the  first  he  could  not  make  out. 
He  ran  to  the  boathouse.  It  was  empty.  He 
called  for  help,  as  one  does  in  such  a  case,  — 
madly  and  aimlessly,  —  though  he  knew  perfectly 
well  that  every  man  belonging  within  earshot  was 
at  dinner.  There  was  nothing  else  to  do  but  to 
take  off  his  coat  and  boots  and  jump  in,  which  he 
did,  without  hesitation.    But  the  process  had  taken 

85 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 


the  imperceptible  moments  which  count  so  much 
in  emergencies,  and  before  he  could  overtake  the 
swimmers  they  had  almost  reached  the  beach  which 
lay  between  the  wharf  and  the  cliffs.  It  was  a  lit- 
tle beach,  a  mouthful  bitten  out  of  the  rocks,  but 
the  surf  was  dashing  vigorously  on  it.  For  several 
days  the  wind  had  pounded  from  the  east,  and,  in 
fact,  it  was  not  "  ladies'  weather." 

Dane  was  a  sturdy  swimmer,  and  although  he 
now  perceived  that  he  would  prove  to  be  rather 
a  comic  supernumerary  than  a  serviceable  and 
enviable  hero,  he  pushed  on  obstinately.  He  had 
approached  one  of  the  figures  —  it  seemed  to  be 
a  crimson  figure — when  a  half-drowned  growl 
warned  him  away. 

"  Oh,  please  don't!" 

A  woman's  voice  bubbled  up  and  strangled  off. 
Dane  uttered  a  terrible  exclamation.  A  big  spurt 
of  strength  and  speed  lessened,  but  did  not  anni- 
hilate, the  distance  between  himself  and  the  object 
of  his  chase.  His  eyes  ached  in  his  head  from  the 
intensity  with  which  they  fixed  upon  that  flicker 
of  crimson  ahead  of  him.  The  choicest  forgotten 
profanities  of  his  youth  leaped  to  his  mind  when 
he  saw  that  the  collie  had  the  best  of  it,  and 
meant  to  keep  what  he  had.  It  was  a  duel  in 
devotion  between  the  dog  and  the  man,  and  dog 
— as  he  had  the  right  to  —  won.   He  pulled  on, 

86 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

volleying  canine  oaths,  giving  language  for  lan- 
guage. Clyde  was  determined  to  keep  his  rival 
off;  and  he  carried  out  his  determination  with 
the  success  which  he  knew  was  expected  of 
him. 

As  soon  as  she  felt  the  sandy  bottom  beneath 
her  feet,  the  girl  began  to  laugh.  Dane  saw  two 
crimson  arms  and  little  purple  hands  come  up  to 
dash  the  water  out  of  her  eyes,  as  she  waded 
heavily  to  the  shore.  He  was  still  over  his  own 
depth,  and  swimming  preposterously. 

"  Let  go,  Clyde  !  "  she  commanded.  "  Let  go, 
dear !  "  Clyde's  mighty  grip  loosened,  and  slipped 
from  her  shoulder  to  her  knees,  tenderly  feeling 
its  way  until  he  found  the  hem  of  her  boating 
dress.  There  he  closed  his  teeth,  and  with  one 
eye  on  the  infuriated  swimmer  he  held  on  calmly. 
Cara  got  herself  squarely  on  the  beach  and  stood 
up  straight.  Dane  had  by  this  time  struck  his 
feet  on  the  sand,  and  was  wading  grimly  in.  He 
felt  how  he  must  look.  The  position  was  too  much 
for  him,  and  he  muttered  something  which  was 
not  quite  clear  to  the  young  lady,  but  it  seemed 
perfectly  intelligible  to  the  collie.  With  a  roar, 
Clyde  released  his  mistress  and  dashed  into  the 
water.  Planting  his  four  feet  in  the  sliding  sand, 
rigid  as  an  iron  dog  on  a  pedestal  of  steel,  up  to 
his  shoulders  in  the  surf,  he  stood  between  the 

87 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO    PART 

woman  and  the  man.  As  Dane  waded  in,  the  dog 
lowered  his  head,  and  his  upper  lip  began  to 
wrinkle. 

"  Oh,  why  don't  you  come  ashore  ?  "  cried  Cara, 
sweetly.  She  did  not  mean  to  be  as  cruel  as  she 
sounded,  and  she  tried  so  hard  not  to  laugh  that 
Dane's  sense  of  humor  deserted  him,  and  he 
exclaimed  fervently :  — 

"  Let  me  just  get  hold  of  that  dog  !  " 

"  He  '11  just  get  hold  of  you  if  you  don't  look 
out,"  said  the  girl,  without  laughing.  "  Clyde ! 
Clyde!  Oh  Clyde!  come  right  out  of  the  water 
this  minute,  sir !  I  don't  know  what  ails  him.  I 
can't  do  a  thing  with  him.  Clyde!  He  —  he  does  n't 
seem  to  mean  to  —  he  does  n't  seem  to  want  you 
to  come  ashore  —  at  alC 

"  Meanwhile,"  said  Dane,  fiercely,  "  you  are 
standing  there  in  this  east  wind  chilled  to  the 
heart.  I  'm  coming,  anyhow,"  he  observed  more 
quietly.  "  It 's  between  me  and  the  dog,  Miss 
Sterling.  Take  the  consequences  ;  and  take  your 
choice!"  He  waded  in,  smiling  but  formidable. 
At  that  moment  he  was  capable  of  throttling 
Clyde;  and  Cara  felt  it.  She  stepped  back  into 
the  water,  and  put  her  hand  on  the  dog's  collar, 
and  whispered  something  in  his  ear.  He  followed 
her  out  through  the  surf  like  a  cosset  on  a  clover 
field.    When  she  turned,  Dane  stood  beside  her. 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

"  What  was  it  you  whispered  to  Clyde  ? "  he 
demanded. 

"  Oh,  don't  you  see  ?  "  she  cried,  with  a  pretty, 
penitent  gesture.  "You  are  taking  the  credit  of 
the  rescue  away  from  Clyde.  You  could  n't  expect 
him  to  stand  that,  now,  could  you  ?  He  brought 
me  all  the  way  in,  just  as  you  saw.  He  picked 
me  up  as  if  I  'd  been  a  chip.  He  did  n't  seem 
to  have  the  least  confidence  in  my  swimming. 
He  just  held  on.  I  should  have  been  —  I  might 
have  —  Clyde,"  quavered  Cara,  "  you  're  a  splen- 
did, precious,  noble  fellow,  and  I  love  you  with 
all  my  heart!"  She  took  the  collie's  head  in  her 
hands,  and  put  her  trembling  lips  to  his  wet, 
scarred  forehead. 

"  Oh,  see  here !  "  said  Dane. 

Cara,  in  her  crimson  boating  dress,  stood  up, 
pale  and  dripping.  He  could  see  how  she  strug- 
gled for  her  self-possession. 

"  I  struck  a  reef,"  she  said,  "  and  we  went  over. 
That's  all.  I  am  very  much  ashamed  of  it.  I 
never  capsized  before.  And  I  tried  to  swim ;  but 
my  dress  was  heavy  (it 's  ladies'  cloth),  and  there 
was  something  in  the  water  that  held  me  back." 

"  There  's  a  tremendous  undertow  to-day,"  said 
Dane,  shuddering.  "Come!"  he  added,  for  he 
choked.  "  I  can't  have  you  standing  here."  He 
drew  the  girl  along,  lifted  her  over  the  rocks, 

39 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

picked  her  up  and  put  her  into  his  buggy  without 
a  word.  He  did  not  consult  her  wishes  or  explain 
his  purpose;  he  drove  off  wildly  towards  the  choc- 
olate eclair  house.  Clyde  followed,  drenched  and 
ecstatic,  in  the  dust.  Cara  spoke  but  once,  then 
she  said :  — 

"  Do  you  really  think  it  was  the  undertow? " 

Dane  made  no  reply.  They  met  no  one  on  the 
way;  he  drove  rapidly,  and  pulled  his  horse  to 
the  haunches  at  Solomon's  gate. 

"  Why  don't  you  take  me  home  ? "  demanded 
Cara,  when  the  doctor  put  up  his  soaked  arms  to 
take  her  out  of  the  buggy. 

"  What  do  you  think  it  would  do  to  your  fa- 
ther?" he  muttered  savagely,  "seeing  you  like 
this  ?  Nannie  will  take  care  of  you,"  he  added 
more  softly.   "  Come !  " 

Cara  said  no  more.  She  obeyed  him,  looking 
a  little  frightened,  and  the  two  went,  dripping,  up 
Solomon's  squash-colored  steps,  and  crossed  his 
chocolate  threshold.  Solomon  was  not  at  home. 
He  was  in  his  cranberry  swamp,  happily  engaged 
in  swindling  an  unsophisticated  pork-packer  out 
of  a  front  price  for  a  back  acre. 

But  Nannie  gracefully  met  the  unexpected 
freshet  tossed  upon  her  hospitality. 

Miss  Sterling  came  meekly  into  the  doctor's 
dingy  office,  when  he  sent  for  her  twenty  minutes 

90 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

later.  She  had  never  been  there  before.  She  did 
not  look  about  the  barren  room ;  but  she  felt  the 
rudeness  of  the  struggle  which  it  represented,  to 
her  last  luxurious  nerve.  She  wore  one  of  Nannie's 
white  silk  blouse  waists  and  her  gray  cloth  skirt. 
Cara's  wet  hair  hung  in  two  long  braids.  Her 
face  had  its  charming,  timid  look.  Clyde  came 
with  her.  The  collie  had  a  ceremonious  and  rather 
a  haughty  air. 

"  I  always  was  convinced,"  she  began  nervously, 
"  that  Nannie  had  my  dressmaker.  Now  there  's 
no  doubt  about  it.  Just  see !  " 

Dane  made  no  answer  to  this.  He  had  risen 
at  her  entrance,  and  stood  looking  at  her  quite 
steadily. 

"  Do  you  know,"  ventured  Cara,  "  that  when 
you  swam  after  us  out  there,  in  the  water,  I  was 
afraid  you  'd  overtake  us  —  I  was  afraid  Clyde 
would  let  me  go,  to  snap  at  you.  Then  where 
should  I  have  been,  or  you,  either,  if  he  had  held 
your  head  under? " 

Dane  met  the  mischief  in  her  eyes  with  an  omi- 
nous solemnity.    He  did  not  speak. 

"Dear  Clyde,"  cooed  the  girl,  "dear  Clyde!" 
She  lifted  her  embarrassed  eyes;  but  the  doctor 
had  no  mercy  on  her.  Clyde  regarded  the  two 
gravely,  and,  after  a  moment's  consideration,  placed 
himself  between  them.    He  did  not  growl  now  or 

9i 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

express  any  displeasure,  but  his  fine  eyes  had  a 
melancholy  look. 

Dane  stood  with  his  dark  head  thrown  back, 
and  his  square  shoulders  very  straight. 

"  Have  you  read  my  letter  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Dr.  Dane." 

"  Carefully  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Doctor." 

"  What  have  you  to  say  to  it  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  said  Cara,  distinctly. 

He  wheeled  and  turned  to  the  window.  She 
could  hear  his  hard,  short  breathing. 

"  Very  well,"  he  said.  "  Shall  I  see  you  to  your 
carriage  ?    I  have  telephoned  for  Tibbs." 

"  Doctor,"  pleaded  the  girl,  "  do  you  think  you 
ought  to  make  me  say  it  ?  " 

"  I  would  if  I  could ! "  gasped  Dane,  raptu- 
rously. He  took  two  steps  towards  her.  "  If  you 
loved  me,  you  would  be  my  wife,"  he  said,  "in 
spite  of  all." 

She  pushed  the  collie  gently  away,  and  stood 
troubled  and  irresolute.  Dane  held  out  his  shak- 
ing arms.  With  a  beautiful  gesture,  half  royal, 
half  suppliant,  she  crossed  the  little  space  between 
them. 

"  Oh,  do  you  understand,"  he  cried  manfully, 
"  what  this  means  —  what  you  are  doing  ?  It 
would  be  wrong  for  me  to  let  you  make  a  mis- 

92 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

take.  It 's  for  all  your  life,  remember.  And  we 
may  have  to  wait  a  great  while.  And  I  'm  not  a 
very  noble  fellow  —  I  'm  full  of  faults  and  weak- 
nesses. You  don't  know  even  what  they  are.  I 
can't  even  swear  to  make  you  happy  —  only  that 
I  shall  care  for  nothing  else  on  earth  except  to 
try.   I  love  you  ...  so  much  .  .  ." 

His  voice  dropped. 

"  And  I,"  she  tried  to  tell  him,  "  I  — "  She 
buried  her  sweet  face  on  the  arm  that  held  her 
off. 

"  I  am  in  the  undertow,"  she  breathed.  "  Let 
me  drown." 

A  long,  profound  sigh  arose,  and  filled  the 
room,  and  fell.  It  was  like  the  effort  of  an  inar- 
ticulate soul  to  say  something.  It  came  from  the 
collie,  forgotten  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  who 
stood  between  the  woman  and  the  man. 


CHAPTER  VII 

When  Dane  took  her  to  her  carriage,  a  patient 
intercepted  him,  and  he  was  forced  to  go  back  to 
his  office  and  to  let  her  ride  home  alone. 

There  was  a  certain  significance  in  this  trifling 
incident  which  did  not  escape  the  prevision  of  the 
girl's  heart.  She  remembered  a  thing  some  woman 
—  probably  it  was  Mrs.  Strang  —  once  said  to 
her:  — 

"  My  dear,  never  be  a  doctor's  wife,  unless  you 
are  willing  to  gather  him  up  in  twelve  basketfuls 
and  feast  on  the  fragments." 

Already,  at  the  brink  of  joy,  the  inexorable  claim 
of  her  lover's  strenuous  calling  pushed  her  aside. 
Always  she  must  yield  to  this  right  —  she  whose 
fortunate  young  life  had  yielded  to  so  little,  and 
had  evaded  the  strenuous  like  perfumed  air;  she 
to  whom  the  word  inexorable  was  written  in  an 
unknown  tongue.  But  nothing  troubled  her.  Her 
lips  stirred.  "  I  love  him,"  they  said. 

When  he  hurried  to  her  that  evening  he  found 
her  more  at  ease  than  himself.  She  met  him  on 
the  avenue;  he  thought  she  had  been  waiting  for 
him;  the  sun  was  just  dipping  through  the  thick 

94 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

trees ;  lances  of  light  quivered  about  her,  and 
seemed  to  strike  at  him,  as  if  to  hold  him  off.  He 
stood  for  a  moment  bareheaded. 

"You  don't  repent?"  he  challenged.  "You  are 
not  sorry  ? " 

Smiling,  she  lifted  her  eyes;  a  beautiful  mist 
melted  across  them;  he  felt  it  would  be  rudeness 
to  look  beyond  it.  He  counted  himself  unworthy 
to  know  how  she  loved  him.  When  he  moved  to- 
wards her  it  was  as  if  one  of  the  lances  of  light 
pierced  him  through  the  heart.  He  felt  unfit  to 
touch  her  hand.  He  could  have  stooped,  and  put 
the  hem  of  her  dress  to  his  lips.  A  singular  em- 
barrassment overcame  him,  and  in  his  effort  to 
free  himself  from  it  his  mind  fastened  upon  the 
first  trifle  that  fell  in  its  way. 

"Why,  you  have  still  got  on  Nannie's  dress!" 
he  said.  Her  head  drooped  a  little. 

"Do  you  mind?"  she  asked  timidly.  "  I  thought 
you  would  like  it.  I  kept  it  on  .  .  .  to  please 
you.  I  thought  ...  I  had  it  on  this  morning, 
and  it  was  the  first  time  ...  it  was  the  first  dress 
that  .  .  ." 

He  crushed  the  unfinished  words  from  her  lips. 
He  drew  her  apart,  among  the  trees.  The  sun  had 
now  dropped.  The  delicate  moment  that  is  neither 
sunset  nor  twilight  enveloped  them.  Her  face, 
gently  upturned,  lay  back  upon  his  arm. 

95 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 


"Cara!"  he  said,  "Cara!  Dear!"  He  felt  as  if 
that  one  word  held  his  whole  soul  It  was  like  a 
cup  into  which  his  being  had  been  poured.  At  that 
moment  there  was  nothing  more  to  offer  her.  Her 
pure,  flower-like  face  had  an  expression  before 
which  the  lover's  rapture  stood  still.  It  seemed  to 
him  a  profanity  to  kiss  her.  But  when  he  had 
kissed  her,  it  seemed  to  him  worship.  And  the 
first  seeming  blended  into  the  last,  and  the  last 
remained  with  him,  and  it  held  (no  man  can  tell 
us  how)  the  ineffable  essence  of  both  seemings  and 
of  both  feelings,  while  yet  it  appeared  to  be  but 
one. 

They  moved  apart  silently,  and  walked  among 
the  heavy  trees,  by  the  footpath  that  led  past  the 
chasm  to  the  sea.  The  first  man  and  the  first 
woman  walked  in  the  garden  in  the  cool  of  the 
day,  and  God  called  them.  The  lover  was  the  one 
to  remember  that  they  were  not  in  Eden.  The  girl 
was  like  a  spirit  in  a  celestial  swoon;  she  might 
have  gone  dreaming  on,  forever. 

"Dear,"  he  said,  lingering  on  the  strangeness 
and  preciousness  of  the  word,  "  I  have  a  good  deal 
to  say  to  your  father;  I  cannot  have  him  think 
that  I  do  not  realize  the  position  in  which  I  am 
placing  you;  and  perhaps  the  sooner  it's  over,  the 
better." 

"  He  is  very  tired,"  said  Cara.  "  He  has  gone  to 
96 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO    PART 

bed.  But  he  will  see  you,  if  you  wish.  I  told  him 
you  might  come." 

"Have  you  told  your  father — "  began  Dane, 
startled. 

"  I  have  told  him  everything,"  said  Cara,  quietly. 

"  But  what  will  he  think? "  cried  Dane,  in  real 
distress.  "  A  struggling,  starving  fellow  like  me, 
keeping  you  waiting,  —  so  long.  Why,  it  may 
be  years!"  groaned  Dane.  "That's  the  worst 
of  it." 

"  I  did  n't  think,"  said  Cara,  almost  inaudibly, 
"  that  it  need  be  quite  so  long.  There  is  .  .  . 
enough,"  she  added  timidly. 

"  But  I  won't  take  you  until  I  can  take  care  of 
you ! "  quivered  Dane.  "  I  'm  not  that  kind  of  fel- 
low —  to  woo  a  rich  man's  daughter  and  live  on 
my  father-in-law.  I  ought  to  have  been  the  one  to 
explain  to  him.  Oh,  what  must  he  think  of  me  ? 
I  'm  not  sunk  to  that.  I  can't  be  put  in  that  position ! " 
The  veins  on  Dane's  forehead  stood  out,  and 
throbbed.  Cara's  uncompromising  candor  of  soul 
would  have  made  it  clear  to  her  that  she  had  seen 
him  angry  —  for  the  first  time  —  and  that  before 
the  rapture  of  their  first  kisses  had  died  upon  their 
lips ;  but  her  elect  and  exquisite  womanliness  closed 
its  eyes  before  this  first  strain  upon  its  vision.  With 
a  sweet  dignity  which  would  not  permit  itself  to 
stoop  to  see  the  vrritation  on  her  lover's  manner 

97 


THOUGH   LIFE  US   DO   PART 

—  sparing  him  even  to  himself,  already  —  she 
gently  said :  — 

"  It  is  not  my  father's  money.  It  is  my  own.  It 
was  Mother's  when  she  was  alive.  There  is  enough 

—  there  is  a  good  deal.  And  we  can  .  .  .  when- 
ever you  wish.  It  shall  be  as  you  wish.  I  do 
not  mean  to  —  "  She  broke  off,  crimson  to  her 
brows. 

11  Shall  I  throw  myself  on  my  knees  ? "  cried 
Dane,  choking.  "Or  off  the  rocks?  I'm  not  fit 
to  be  anywhere  else  —  but  in  one  of  those  two 
places." 

They  had  left  the  trees  behind  them,  and  were 
standing  on  the  edge  of  the  great  chasm,  which 
was  filled  by  the  passion  of  the  rising  tide.  It  was 
heavy  twilight  now.  Cara  looked  down. 

"  If  you  went  over  there,"  she  said  steadily,  "I 
don't  know  but  I  might  go,  too.  And  if  you  went 
on  your  knees,  I  should  lift  you  up." 

"  Lift  me  up!"  entreated  Dane.  He  fell,  in  the 
dusk,  and  bowed  his  face  before  her,  and  put  a 
fold  of  her  dress  to  his  lips. 

Across  the  ravine,  strolling  through  the  shrub- 
bery towards  the  bridge,  a  massive  figure,  moving 
slowly,  paused.  Bareheaded,  and  smiling,  with  the 
attitude  and  motions  which  betoken  ease  of  mind 
and  heart,  the  preacher  set  his  foot  upon  the  iron 
bridge;  it  trembled,  expectant  of  his  tread,  but  he 

93 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

did  not  cross.  Carved  from  the  departing  day  and 
the  advancing  night,  like  a  startled  purpose  or 
arrested  feeling,  he  might  have  been  struck  out  of 
the  granite  on  which  he  stood.  It  was  darkening 
fast  about  him.  All  his  strong  outlines  dimmed 
before  they  turned  and  reassumed  the  foliage  and 
blossom  of  his  own  garden.  From  granite  to  shadow 
he  melted  imperceptibly.  It  was  now  dark.  The 
preacher  walked  unsteadily ;  his  head  sunk  upon 
his  breast.  The  figures  across  the  chasm  had  not 
stirred.  In  the  gulf,  the  passion  of  the  rising  tide 
mounted  with  an  inexorable  sound. 

Dane  came  out  from  Mr.  Sterling's  room  with 
brilliant  eyes.  The  details  of  the  interview  between 
the  two,  known  only  to  themselves,  had  left  the 
young  man  his  self-respect  and  his  ecstasy.  In  the 
flush  of  these,  he  drew  the  girl's  hand  powerfully 
through  his  arm  and  proudly  led  her  to  her  father. 
Cara  felt  the  new  element  in  his  touch;  it  filled 
her  with  delight  and  fear;  this  was  the  moment 
when  her  feeling  came  out  of  the  glamour  in  which 
it  had  floated — a  beautiful  and  dreaming  con- 
sciousness—  and  faced  the  conditions  of  life.  As 
she  had  come  in  from  the  twilight,  and  the  illusion 
of  the  sea,  and  the  bewilderment  of  the  rising  tide, 
abruptly  to  the  lighted  house,  and  the  familiar 
sights  of  the  sick  room — so  the  scenery  in  her 

99 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

heart  had  shifted  suddenly.  All  that  was  powerful 
in  the  force  of  habit,  all  that  was  sacred  in  family 
relations  and  in  old  friendships,  all  that  had  dig- 
nity in  the  atmosphere  of  class,  assumed  a  value 
which  she  had  never  felt  before.  Suddenly  she 
perceived  that  she  understood  what  it  all  meant. 
Her  heart  brimmed  with  a  tender  longing  to  share 
the  cup  of  her  joy  with  her  father.  She  thought 
of  her  dead  mother  wistfully.  She  wished  that  she 
could  kneel  and  lay  her  head  upon  that  phantom 
lap.  It  had  not  suggested  itself  to  her  before,  that 
she  had  burst  into  the  garden  of  love  without  a 
guiding  hand. 

u  Dear  Papa ! "  she  said  helplessly. 

He  laid  his  high-veined  hand  upon  her  head, 
for  she  had  dropped  upon  her  knees  beside  his 
bed,  and  soothed  her  feebly. 

"  There,  there,  my  child  !  It 's  all  right,  Cara.  I 
am  not  strong  enough  to-night  to  talk  it  over,  but 
it 's  all  right.  I  am  very  fond  of  Dr.  Dane.  It  is 
not  —  precisely  such  a  marriage  as  the  —  ladies 
of  our  family  have  been  accustomed  to  make,  my 
daughter.  But  I  don't  know  that  this  matters  .  .  . 
much.  If  he  makes  you  happy  —  " 

"  May  God  do  so  to  me,  and  more  also,  if  I  do 
not  make  her  happy !  "  interrupted  Dane,  with  un- 
governable fervor. 

"  I  am  very  fond  of  Dr.  Dane,"  repeated  the  in- 
ioo 


THOUGH  LIFE   US   DO   PART 


valid  wearily,  and  turned  his  head  upon  his  pil- 
low. He  did  not  respond  to  the  lover's  passionate 
objurgation  ;  and  its  evident,  though  impetuous, 
sincerity  sunk  into  a  silence  which  was  not  with- 
out embarrassment. 

"  Papa,"  said  Cara,  rising  from  her  knees,  "  I 
want  you  to  understand.  I  cannot  deceive  you 
about  this.  It  makes  me  very  happy  that  you  feel 
so  —  Oh,  happier  than  I  know  how  to  say.  And 
I  should  have  been  miserable  if  it  had  been  any 
other  way.  But,  Papa,  if  nobody  felt  so  —  if  the 
whole  world  went  against  us  —  I  should  marry 
Dr.  Dane." 

"  And  don't  you  suppose  I  knew  that  ?  "  asked 
Rollinstall  Sterling,  with  a  sombre  smile.  His  gray 
lashes  twitched  and  worked  rapidly,  as  they  did 
when  he  was  under  much  emotion  —  a  nervous 
habit  acquired  since  he  had  been  an  invalid. 

"  But  I  did  n't,"  interposed  Cara,  "  I  did  not 
know  a  girl  could  feel  like  this.  I  did  not  under- 
stand about  it.  I  don't  care  what  marriages  the 
ladies  of  our  family  have  been  accustomed  to 
make.  I  could  live  on  a  desert  island  —  with  him, 
Papa."  All  the  scenery  of  her  feeling  had  shifted 
swiftly  back.  The  force  of  habit  and  the  usual  rela- 
tions of  life  retreated  like  stage  settings  with  which 
a  drama  had  done.  With  a  beautiful  gesture  she 
turned  to  Dane,  and  laid  her  hand  in  his. 

IOI 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

"  I  could  starve,"  she  said. 

The  nervous  flutter  of  the  invalid's  eyelids  in- 
creased until  the  twitching  became  almost  convul- 
sive. He  seemed  so  exhausted  that  the  daughter 
and  the  doctor  reproached  themselves  for  allowing 
him  to  undergo  so  much  excitement.  The  doctor 
prescribed  something,  and  they  left  him  alone  for 
the  night. 

In  the  middle  of  the  dim  drawing-room  Dane 
stood  for  the  first  time,  a  lover  accepted  and  accred- 
ited, and  held  out  his  arms.  Cara  crept  to  them 
gently.  She  did  not  speak,  and  he  did  not  urge 
her.  He  led  her  to  the  cretonne  sofa,  with  the 
roses,  and  they  sat  down  together.  Cara  left  her 
hand  in  his,  but  held  her  head  erect  upon  her  own 
shoulders.  He  felt  that  she  retreated  from  him  at 
that  moment,  he  did  not  know  why.  Cara  did  not 
find  it  necessary  to  tell  him,  and  he  hesitated  to 
ask  her.  A  certain  delicate  dignity,  peculiar  to 
herself,  and  always  unexpected  in  so  gentle  a 
woman,  folded  her  apart  from  him.  She  did  not 
know  how  to  say,  she  did  not  even  wish  to  say, 
what  she  felt  just  then. 

Suddenly  his  own  words  crowded  into  her 
thought :  — 

"  It  is  for  all  your  life,  remember." 

She  turned  and  put  up  her  arms ;  as  his  clasped 
her,  she  lifted  her  lips. 

102 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO    PART 

"  Oh,  be  good  to  me,"  she  said.  "  There  won't 
be  .  .  .  anybody  else." 

It  did  not  occur  to  Cara  until  the  next  day  that 
she  would  be  expected  to  announce  her  betrothal 
to  her  cousin  at  once.  She  waited  until  afternoon 
for  him  to  make  his  daily  visit  to  his  uncle's 
house;  but  he  did  not  come.  She  watched  for  his 
leisurely,  large  outlines  on  the  iron  bridge,  until 
she  grew  uncomfortable,  and  so  sat  down  and 
wrote  an  impulsive  note,  which  said :  — 

Dear  Cousin  Sterling,  —  We  have  missed  you 

all  day. 

Cara. 

She  had,  in  fact,  called  Kathleen  to  carry  this, 
when  she  changed  her  mind  abruptly,  tore  up  the 
note,  and  went  herself.  She  ran  lightly  across  the 
bridge,  without  looking  down  into  the  chasm,  — 
a  thing  she  did  not  always  like  to  do, — and 
hurried  through  the  garden.  As  she  approached 
the  house  her  feet  began  to  obstruct  her,  and  she 
lagged.  He  was  sitting  on  his  piazza  with  a  book ; 
but  he  was  not  reading.  His  face  was  turned  to- 
wards the  sea.  There  was  a  southeasterly,  and  the 
surf  had  its  raving,  thwarted  sound ;  it  was  like 
the  rage  of  some  primeval  life,  conscious  of  hurt, 
and  ominous  of  pangs  to  come. 

103 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO    PART 


She  stood  still  at  the  foot  of  the  piazza  steps,  in 
her  light  summer  dress  with  its  rose  ribbon,  and 
her  shade  hat  hung  across  one  arm,  a  girlish  fig- 
ure, looking  younger  than  her  years.  She  glanced 
up  at  him  like  a  child  or  a  penitent,  coaxingly. 

"  We  have  missed  you  all  day,"  she  began,  with 
conscious  awkwardness.  "  I  came  over  to  see —  I 
came  over  to  tell  you  —  " 

He  uttered  a  few  inaudible  words,  and  with  the 
something  beautiful  and  reverential  in  his  man- 
ner which  he  cherished  for  her,  led  her  up  the 
steps.  She  would  not  sit,  and  he  stood  beside  her 
on  the  broad  piazza.  Jane  crossed  the  hall  and 
shut  the  door,  and  her  footsteps  ceased  upon  the 
ear  in  the  silent,  lonely  house. 

"  Why,  Cousin  Sterling !  "  said  Cara,  "  you  don't 
look  well.  Is  anything  the  matter?  " 

"You  came  to  confess  to  me  —  not  I  to  you, 
Cousin  Carolyn,"  he  answered,  smiling. 

Her  heart  leaned  towards  him  now,  bent  with 
the  pressure  of  a  lifetime  spent  in  leaning  on  him. 
She  felt  as  if  she  could  have  sat  on  the  floor 
and  buried  her  face  on  his  big  knee  like  a  very 
little  girl.  She  wanted  his  blessing  just  then,  as 
much  as  she  had  ever  wanted  anything  in  her 
life. 

"  Cousin  Sterling,"  she  began,  turning  swiftly 
white  about  the  mouth,  in  a  fashion  she  had  when 

104 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

she  was  deeply  moved,  "  I  have  promised  to  marry 
Papa's  physician,  Dr.  Dane.  I  came  to  tell  you. 
I  thought  you  would  come  over  this  morning." 

"  Never  mind,  child,"  he  said  gently. 

"  I  hope  —  we  hope  you  will  like  it,"  faltered 
Cara,  in  unconcealed  embarrassment.  Sterling 
Hart  walked  the  length  of  the  piazza,  and  stood, 
looking  seaward  and  surfward,  silently. 

"  Cousin  Cara,"  he  said,  without  turning  around, 
"  do  you  love  this  man  ?  " 

"  I  do."  Unconsciously  Cara  found  the  phrase- 
ology of  the  marriage  service  on  her  trembling 
lips. 

"  With  all  your  heart  ?  " 

"  With  all  my  heart." 

"  And  all  your  soul  ?  " 

Cara  felt  frightened,  and  something  hurt  at  the 
pertinacity  and  solemnity  of  the  preacher.  A  flip- 
pant reply  rose  to  her  lips :  "  Can't  I  get  my  soul 
out  of  your  diocese,  Cousin  Sterling?"  After- 
wards she  was  glad  that  she  did  not  say  it. 

"  Is  there  any  difference  ?  "  she  began  in  a  trem- 
bling voice.  But  it  faltered  away  into  an  impetu- 
ous, half-fretful  cry :  — 

"  Oh,  bless  me,  Cousin  Sterling !  I  do  need  it. 
Papa  is  so  sick  —  and  I  haven't  any  mother  — 
and  you  've  always  made  up  for  everything  all  my 
life!" 

105 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 


He  turned  slowly,  and  walked  the  length  of  the 
piazza  towards  her.  He  had  a  remote,  exalted 
look.  Old  Bible  words  came  curiously  to  Cara's 
mind ;  something  about  a  face  which  "  shone  as  it 
had  been  that  of  an  angel." 

"  The  Lord  bless  thee,  and  keep  thee,"  said 
Sterling  Hart.  He  laid  his  hand  upon  her  soft, 
bowed  head  ;  and  she  received  his  benediction 
silently.  She  wondered  why  it  did  not  make  her 
feel  as  much  happier  as  she  had  expected.  But 
she  did  not  speak,  nor  he,  while  he  conducted  her 
quietly  through  the  garden  and  over  the  iron 
bridge.  There  he  left  her.  He  retraced  his  steps 
across  the  bridge,  and  they  stood  for  a  moment, 
with  the  chasm  between  them,  before  he  lifted  his 
hand  and,  smiling,  turned  away. 

"Cousin  Sterling,"  she  said,  "did  you  never 
think  of  it  —  all  this  while?" 

He  shook  his  head.  "  Not  once  in  all  this  while." 

Cara  would  have  been  glad  if  her  cousin  had 
shown  a  more  pronounced  pleasure  in  her  engage- 
ment; but  her  mind  did  not  dwell  on  his  eccen- 
tricities. It  had  now  ceased  to  matter  to  her  what 
anybody  thought  or  felt  about  her  affairs.  The 
world  and  all  that  was  therein  looked  small  to 
her,  and  distant,  like  a  dwindling  planet  seen  from 
a  whirling,  rose-red  star.    The  system  of  things 

1 06 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

narrowed  to  a  dizzy  spot,  in  which  she  and  her 
lover  stood  alone.  Clasping  arms  and  clinging  lips 
bewildered  her.  The  passion  in  his  vows  made  a 
rainbow  mist  about  her;  she  looked  through  it 
with  virginal,  young  eyes,  and  saw  the  man  as  a 
god  walking.  Her  thoughts  of  marriage  were  vague 
and  delicate ;  fearing  and  trusting,  she  leaned  to- 
wards it,  not  unwilling. 

"  It  will  always  be  like  this,"  she  dreamed.  "  I 
shall  never  be  lonely  again.  Every  day  there  will 
be  a  new  happiness." 

She  had  been  a  reserved,  shy  girl,  and  had  not 
talked  with  other  women  about  many  things  of 
which  women  speak  more  freely  than  they  did  in 
an  elder  day.  She  did  not  tell  her  intimates  what 
her  offers  of  marriage  had  been.  She  was  used  to 
being  called  old-fashioned  because  she  did  not  dis- 
cuss engagements  or  family  difficulties.  No  per- 
son thought  of  retailing  scandal  to  her.  Her  ideas 
of  the  great  relation  of  life  were  gained  chiefly 
from  her  reading;  poetry,  romance,  and  fiction 
had  taught  her  that  love  was  an  eternal  fact ;  that 
the  true  thing  was  indestructible,  and  that  happi- 
ness was  to  be  had  by  believing  in  it.  The  novels 
ended  on  the  wedding  day.  On  the  perfume  of  the 
orange  blossom  joy  fed,  and  found  immortal  nutri- 
tion, as  some  strange  being  of  an  unknown  race 
—  some  essence  evanescent,  but  fixed  —  some  or- 

107 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

ganism  of  fire  and  pearl  —  may  maintain  life  upon 
ether,  or  light,  or  foam. 

The  motherless  girl  shared  her  visions  of  the 
future  with  no  one.  Her  lover  was  the  last  to  know 
what  they  were.  When  he  suggested  a  speedy  mar- 
riage, she  assented  with  a  sweet  and  gentle  readi- 
ness to  meet  this  wish  of  his,  as  she  chose  to  meet 
his  every  one.  She  was  not  conscious,  at  this  time, 
of  many  wishes  of  her  own.  She  felt  herself  extin- 
guished in  her  love.  She  was  an  obliterated  wave 
in  a  mighty  tide. 

They  were  married  in  October.  It  was  late  in 
the  month,  on  the  twenty-eighth  of  a  series  of 
wonderful  days  which  were  long  remembered  on 
the  East  Shore  as  having  made  that  autumn 
splendid.  Clouds  found  it  impossible  to  cover  the 
sun.  Fogs  blew  in,  only  to  fly  out.  It  rained  at 
night,  to  shine  in  the  morning.  The  colors  of 
the  water  were  those  that  north  winds  paint,  with 
southerly  moods  between  :  purples,  greens,  and 
bronzes,  deep  agate  effects,  and  sepia  stretches  of 
seaweed  exposed  by  wind  and  tide ;  the  lead-gray 
fishing  schooners  were  reefed  to  the  teeth,  careen- 
ing like  racing  yachts  upon  a  horizon  line  that 
had  the  hues  of  malachite,  and  seemed  as  solid. 
Then,  the  next  day  behold,  all  the  blues  on  the 
palette  tossing  wildly,  steel  shadows,  iron  gulfs,  the 

108 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

smoke  of  blown  spray,  and  warm  rocks  frosted 
with  unfrozen  foam.  Perhaps  at  sundown  all  the 
glorious  rage  would  yield  and  cuddle  down  like  a 
spaniel ;  there  would  be  left  a  milk-white  sea,  fair 
as  a  midsummer  calm,  with  crawling  hulls  and 
all  canvas  up,  against  a  volcanic  sky,  cooled  by 
lakes  of  beryl. 

Scarcely  a  breath  would  meet  the  cheek;  the 
surf  in  the  ravine  sobbed  away;  the  summer  of 
autumn  crept  in  as  if  it  meant  to  stay  all  winter. 
Flowers  lived  late  in  the  garden,  and  the  fall  dande- 
lions burned  in  the  grass  steadily. 

It  soon  fell  out  that  Cara  did  not  want  a  wed- 
ding, but  a  marriage. 

"  I  should  like  to  go  out  and  stand  on  the  iron 
bridge  some  afternoon  at  high  tide,  with  only 
Cousin  Sterling  to  marry  us,  and  Papa  to  witness 
—  and  Clyde,  of  course  —  nobody  else,  except  the 
sea,"  she  said.  "  And  there  's  a  little  place  in  the 
mountains  where  I  had  a  happy  time  one  summer 
with  Janie  Dale.  She 's  a  girl  I  went  to  school  with. 
I  'd  like  to  spend  Sunday  at  Dipdown  ;  then  come 
right  home  and  stay.  It  would  spoil  it  to  travel 
about.  I  should  like  —  "  But  she  did  not  say  what 
more  she  would  like.  She  wanted  a  star  to  them- 
selves, in  fact  —  they  two  to  be  in  a  world  together. 
This  not  offering  itself  as  a  practical  honeymoon 
schedule,  she  sighed,  and  accepted  the  bridal  con- 

109 


THOUGH   LIFE   US  DO   PART 

ditions  of  her  own  planet  to  a  certain  extent.  She 
waived  the  iron  bridge.  She  consented  to  the  usual 
necessary  relatives,  and  wrote  to  Janie  Dale.  And 
one  day  she  expressed  a  wish  that  Dr.  Frost  be 
bidden  to  her  marriage,  with  two  or  three  other 
family  friends. 

But  Thomas  Frost  found  himself  prevented  by 
important  professional  engagements.  He  wrote 
her  a  ceremonious  note,  and  hoped  she  would  be 
happy  with  the  man  of  her  choice. 

The  man  of  her  choice  stood  in  the  centre  of 
the  bridal  group,  a  proud  and  solitary  figure.  "  I 
have  n't  a  relation  left  but  my  brother  Clay,"  he 
sighed,  "  and  I  don't  even  know  where  he  is." 

"Never  mind,  dear!  "said  Cara.  She  had  al- 
ready acquired  the  habit  of  comforting  him  with 
this  wholly  womanly,  half-maternal  phrase  when 
any  trifle  troubled  him.  Sometimes  she  had  mo- 
ments of  wishing  that  he  had  a  mother  or  a  sister 
to  put  arms  about  her,  and  say,  "We  will  love  you 
because  he  does  " ;  to  tell  how  good  a  son  he  was, 
how  kind  a  brother,  what  a  tender  husband  he 
would  make,  and  how  glad  a  wife  she  ought  to  be. 
But  she  never  told  him  that.  And  Dane  came  to 
his  wedding  day  with  only  a  friend  or  two  —  uni- 
versity men  —  and  at  Cara's  pretty  insistence, 
Solomon  Hops  and  Nannie. 

"It's  natur',  "said  Solomon  Hops,  "an  when 
no 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

you  've  said  a  thing  s  natur',  you  've  teched  a  great 

1     •  5    55 

subjec . 

But  Cara  consoled  herself  for  all  lapses  in  her 
perfect  happiness  by  tying  white  ribbons  on  Clyde. 

The  wonderful  weather  seemed  eternal.  The 
wedding  day  was  one  of  those  miracles  of  the  New 
England  climate  which  October  reserves  to  itself. 
It  was  April  at  dawn,  it  was  June  at  noon,  it  was 
September  at  dusk.  There  were  autumn  leaves 
and  dandelions,  there  were  rose  berries  and  live 
pansies,  there  were  open  windows  and  wood  fires, 
there  was  a  South  wind  and  a  tossing  surf.  Cara 
wore  her  mother's  veil ;  it  wrapped  her  soft,  un- 
ornamented  silk  from  head  to  hem,  and  made 
a  mist  about  her.  With  bridal  eyes  she  sought 
Dane's  trustfully.   His  swam  at  her  look. 

"  Thou  God ! "  said  the  young  man  to  his  soul, 
"  make  me  fit  for  this !  " 

He  could  not  have  told  when  he  had  prayed 
before. 

So  the  Reverend  Sterling  Hart  married  Cara 
and  Chanceford  Dane.  It  was  said  by  those  who 
heard  him,  and  who  knew  him  well,  that  the 
preacher  read  the  vows  of  the  marriage  service  as 
they  were  never  read  before,  by  him,  or  any  other 
man,  giving  to  them  such  solemnity,  such  sanctity 
as  the  world,  which  makes  of  marriage  a  merry 
thing  or  a  light  choice,  cannot  be  expected    to 

in 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

understand,  being  unworthy.  All  that  was  pre- 
cious and  noble  in  his  own  high  nature,  all  that 
was  sheltered  and  sacred  in  his  lonely  imagination 
and  great  white  heart,  seemed  to  lavish  itself  upon 
the  sacrament  which  made  his  cousin  wife  to  the 
man  she  loved.  There  were  more  tears  than  smiles 
at  Cara's  unworldly  wedding ;  but  they  were  such 
tears  as  men  and  women  go  glad  for  and  after- 
wards do  not  regret  or  forget. 

When  she  had  gone  upstairs,  and  it  was  said 
that  the  carriage  was  at  the  door,  that  the  train 
would  soon  be  due,  that  the  time  was  short,  the 
preacher  beckoned  Chanceford  Dane,  and  drew 
him  into  her  father's  room,  the  only  spot  where 
they  could  be  undisturbed.  And  here  he  shut  the 
door.  But  when  he  had  done  this,  Sterling  Hart 
did  not  find  the  words  that  he  wished  to  say.  He 
stood  at  his  great  height.  His  eyes  dwelt  upon 
the  young  man's  ecstatic  face  with  a  sad  sincerity. 
He  scanned  it  feature  by  feature.  Suddenly  he 
stretched  out  both  his  hands. 

"  Oh,  be  kind  !"  he  faltered.  "  Be  kind  to  her !  " 
But  when  the  bridegroom  would  have  answered 
him,  hot  with  the  hurt  and  amazement  of  the 
words,  the  preacher  laid  a  finger  on  Dane's  open- 
ing lips.  He  stood  colossal  and  commanding :  as  if 
he  wore  the  authority  of  the  sons  of  God.   With 

112 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

bowed  head  and  dumb  mouth  Dane  left  his  pre- 
sence. 

The  preacher  had  come  down  to  the  end  of  the 
avenue  alone,  to  see  her  drive  away.  The  splen- 
dor of  the  weather  had  fallen,  and  a  fog,  like  the 
smoke  of  a  battle,  was  rolling  up  from  the  sea; 
it  came  between  his  eyes  and  her  face,  as  she 
looked  back  once,  he  thought  a  little  wistfully, 
from  the  carriage  window.  Something  tugged  at 
his  hand,  and  a  low  sound  like  a  half-suppressed 
human  moan  attracted  his  attention.  He  looked 
down. 

Clyde,  in  his  broad,  white  ribbons,  stood  there 
mournfully;  he  did  not  seek  to  follow  the  car- 
riage ;  he  lifted  his  eyes  with  a  hurt  expression  to 
the  man. 

"  Clyde  !  "  said  Sterling  Hart,  "  she  's  forgotten 
us  both." 

As  soon  as  he  had  said  the  words,  it  came  to 
him  that  when  she  leaned  to  the  carriage  window 
with  that  lovely  wistfulness  of  hers  she  had  not 
been  thinking  of  him  at  all.  She  was  looking  for 
Clyde. 

In  the  carriage  neither  spoke.  Cara  leaned 
against  the  arm  that  compelled  her,  silently  and 
gently.    But  when  they  had  boarded  the  train, 

113 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO    PART 

she  found  it  necessary  to  talk  of  little  matters  — 
as  if  they  had  been  acquaintances,  or  friends. 

She  said,  "  I  missed  Kathleen  at  the  wedding. 
I  was  very  fond  of  her.  It  is  five  weeks  since  she 
was  married." 

And  Dane  said,  "  Did  she  marry  that  waiter 
from  the  hotel  ? "  eagerly,  as  if  he  cared.  Then 
Cara  talked  about  her  father  and  her  cousin,  and 
of  family  affairs  and  plans,  as  if  he  had  been 
making  an  evening  call,  and  would  soon  go,  so 
that  she  must  say  all  that  she  had  on  her  mind  at 
once. 

"  Papa  is  so  well  to-day!  Did  you  notice?  And 
he  seemed  not  to  mind  it  at  all.  It  is  just  like 
Cousin  Sterling  to  take  him  to  town  and  carry  all 
the  care  until  I  —  until  we  go  home.  Cousin 
Sterling  always  carries  all  the  care.  And  when 
we  go  back,  we  are  to  have  the  house  all  to  our- 
selves. And  the  sea.  And  Clyde.  Don't  you  miss 
Clyde  ? "  asked  the  bride,  naively. 

"  It  had  not  occurred  to  me,"  replied  Dane; 
"  I  '11  try  to  miss  him  if  you  want  me  to." 

They  chatted  like  neighbors,  and  discussed  their 
wedding  as  if  they  had  been  guests.  But  as  the 
train  drew  into  the  hills,  Cara  grew  grave  and 
still.  When  he  lifted  her  out  of  the  cars  at  Dip- 
down,  he  was  troubled  to  see  that  she  was  pale, 
and  had  a  homesick  look.    She  refused  to  ride, 

114 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

and  insisted  on  walking  with  him  to  the  hotel. 
There  were  but  a  few  guests  left,  and  they  were 
all  indoors,  for  the  mountain  night  was  chilly.  A 
huge  pine-wood  fire  was  leaping  on  the  hearth  in 
the  large  hall.  Cara's  color  came  back  when  she 
saw  it.    She  clung  to  him  suddenly. 

"  Oh,  the  mountains  frighten  me !  I  'm  a  sea 
girl.  I  always  was.  But  that  looks  as  if  there  were 
people  in  the  world.  We  11  go  home  Monday, 
won't  we,  dear  ?  " 

"  We  '11  go  home  now,  if  you  say  so ! "  he  said, 
stopping  short. 

"  Why,  there  's  my  cottage !  "  cried  Cara.  "  The 
one  where  I  stayed  with  Janie  Dale.  It 's  all 
lighted  up.  Why,  we're  not  going  there?  Oh, 
that  was  nice  of  you ! "  she  sighed  gratefully,  for 
he  led  her  into  the  cottage.  Fires  were  there,  too, 
leaping  on  every  hearth;  the  bare,  white-plastered 
walls  were  hung  with  cloth  of  gold ;  the  scent  of 
unseen  roses  stirred  the  warm  air. 

"  Come,"  he  said  comfortably,  "  take  off  your 
hat.  They  '11  send  supper  over  when  you  're 
ready." 

Some  one  in  the  hotel  parlor,  at  the  piano,  was 
singing  industriously,  and  the  words  came  over 
to  the  cottage  quite  plainly :  — 

"  I  have  no  home,  no  place,  no  life, 
But  only  in  thy  heart." 

ii5 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO    PART 


Cara  stood  for  a  moment  listening,  before  she 
turned  and  looked  at  him.  It  was  a  look  which 
would  follow  a  man  to  his  last  dream;  an  angel, 
or  a  ghost,  as  he  himself  elected. 

Dane  sank  slowly  to  his  knees,  and  hid  his 
bowed  face  upon  his  young  wife's  hand. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

The  preacher  mounted  the  stairs  slowly.  They 
were  wide  stairs,  and  low,  easy  to  climb,  but  he  so 
rarely  trod  them  that  the  act  had  in  itself  a  certain 
ceremonious  strangeness:  to  this  the  marked  gen- 
tleness of  his  footfall  added  a  delicate  impression. 
His  figure  bent  slightly,  with  the  effort  to  reduce 
the  effect  of  his  great  weight  upon  the  padded 
steps.  One  would  have  thought  that  he  was  about 
to  enter  the  chamber  of  death,  or  danger.  But 
Mrs.  Dane  was  convalescing  rapidly,  and  per- 
fectly. Her  little  boy  was  three  weeks  old,  and 
Mr.  Hart  had  not  seen  the  mother  or  the  child. 

When  the  nurse  admitted  him  to  his  cousin's 
sitting-room,  he  said,  "  I  thank  you,  Miss  Black," 
in  the  tone  of  one  upon  whom  an  undeserved  and 
incalculable  favor  had  been  bestowed.  He  stood 
for  a  moment  silently,  touched  by  a  certain  em- 
barrassment which  at  times  possessed  him,  and 
which  in  a  man  of  his  large  acquaintance  with 
life  was  noted  either  with  perplexity  or  admira- 
tion, according  to  the  temperament  of  the  ob- 
server. In  fact,  this  modest  self-consciousness  was 

117 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO    PART 

really  a  more  beautiful  thing  than  most  persons 
were  capable  of  understanding. 

The  young  mother  sat  in  a  tall,  cushioned  chair, 
with  her  baby  in  her  arms.  The  chair  had  been 
moved  up  from  below  stairs,  and  like  the  rest  of 
the  furniture  in  the  drawing-room,  wore  the  old- 
fashioned  cretonne,  white  with  pink  roses.  One  of 
these  looked  over  Cara's  head  at  Sterling  Hart  as 
he  came  into  the  room.  Her  pallor  sent  a  visible 
shock  through  him  for  the  instant ;  but  the  radi- 
ance of  her  helped  him  to  recover  himself.  She  sat 
smiling  and  shining  as  if  she  leaned  towards  him 
out  of  a  world  where  to  smile  and  to  shine  were 
the  only  possible  duties  of  a  woman's  spirit.  She 
was  draped  in  soft  wool  —  for  the  late  September 
afternoon  was  chilly  —  and  the  stuff  was  of  pale 
rose  color,  and  fell  about  her  in  long  lines.  The 
baby  on  her  lap  was  folded  in  white,  embroidered 
delicately ;  it  wore  a  little  old-fashioned  lace  cap ; 
its  head  lay  upon  her  long,  maternal  arm ;  both 
her  hands  were  busy  with  the  novel  task  of  pre- 
serving the  poise  of  the  little  creature  upon  her 
yet  unaccustomed  lap.  In  the  deep  hearth  a  fire 
was  singing  softly  ;  the  draperies  at  the  windows 
of  the  small  room  were  white,  and  transparent; 
the  walls  were  of  pink,  and  pale  ;  a  warm,  delicate 
tint  suffused  the  atmosphere.  The  preacher's  lips 
opened  slowly :  — 

118 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

"The  Madonna  —  of  the  Rose,"  they  said. 

"Oh,  Cousin  Sterling!"  Cara  held  out  one 
hand,  which  he  took  so  reverently  that  he  could 
hardly  have  been  said  to  grasp  it ;  and  when  he 
had  touched  it,  he  laid  it  back  slowly  in  its  former 
position,  about  the  child.  "  Plenty  of  other  people 
can  say  pretty  things.  It  always  took  you  to  say 
the  real  ones,  Cousin  Sterling  —  the  deep-down 
ones,  the  things  with  roots.  See  now !  What  do 
you  think  of  him  ?  On  your  sacred  honor  as  the 
most  eminent  preacher  in  this  country  —  how  do 
you  like  my  baby  ?  " 

"  How  can  I  possibly  tell,  Cousin  Carolyn  ?  It 
is  your  baby." 

"  Say  you  see  how  much  he  looks  like  his  fa- 
ther, "  demanded  Cara,  anxiously.  "  He  will  have 
the  eyes.  And  I  am  sure  he  is  going  to  have  that 
white  lock  on  the  top  of  his  head.  I  should  n't 
wonder  if  he  were  gray  there  by  the  time  he  goes 
to  kindergarten." 

"  I  do  not  see  the  least  resemblance,"  replied  Mr. 
Hart,  without  smiling.  He  put  out  his  large  hand 
and  touched  the  baby's  fingers,  which  sprawled  in 
his  palm. 

"  Like  a  red  spider,"  observed  the  young  mo- 
ther, candidly.  "  They  always  do  look  like  some 
of  the  inferior  species  —  at  first.  I  don't  know  why 
I  flattered  myself  that  my  baby  would  escape  the 

119 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

universal  doom.  Chanceford  says  one  of  his  pa- 
tients asked  if  it  were  a  Maltese." 

"  I  can  guess  who  that  was,"  replied  Mr.  Hart, 
with  a  shrug  of  his  massive  shoulders. 

"  Can  you  ?  "  asked  Cara,  indifferently.  "  I  am 
sure  she  has  no  children,  at  all  events." 

"  No,  she  has  no  children." 

"  I  am  glad  you  don't  think  it  was  funny.  Chance- 
ford  did.  But  I  am  not  sure  that  I  understand  why 
you  don't." 

"  Probably  because  it  is  your  baby.  Do  you  think 
I  should  mangle  it  if  I  held  it  a  minute  ?  I  kept 
one  a  whole  afternoon  once,  on  a  parish  call,  to  let 
a  poor  woman  go  out  and  get  the  air.  It  cried  two 
hours." 

Cara  laid  the  child  in  her  cousin's  arms,  and  he 
returned  the  little  creature,  as  he  had  held  it,  with- 
out remark.  Across  his  face  there  passed  a  sensi- 
tive expression,  half  feeling,  half  light. 

"  You  are  well  ?  "  he  asked  abruptly.  "  That  is, 
I  mean,  you  are  gaining  all  the  time? " 

"  I  am  perfectly  well !  "  cried  Cara,  girlishly.  "  I 
am  to  be  let  out  on  the  piazza  next  week  —  with 
the  baby.  And  then  I  am  to  go  to  drive —  with  the 
baby.  But  the  only  thing  is,  Clyde  can't  go.  We 
have  to  tie  Clyde  up.  Did  you  notice  ?  He  is 
jealous.  He  is  frightfully  jealous.  So  Chanceford 
chained  him.  He  snapped  at  the  baby;  I  mean, 

120 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

Clyde  did.  That  is,  he  pretended  to.  I  am  sure 
Clyde  could  n't  really.  He  cares  too  much ;  for 
me,  I  mean." 

11  It  does  not  occur  to  you  that  there  might  be  a 
relation  between  caring  and  snapping,"  interrupted 
the  preacher.  "  Do  you  still  keep  to  the  name  you 
chose  for  the  child  ?  " 

"  It  was  my  husband's  mother's  name,  you  know. 
It  seems  to  me  a  beautiful  name.  But  we  shall  al- 
ways call  him  Joy,"  said  Cara.  She  repeated  the 
word,  fondling  the  baby  with  the  two  liquid  vow- 
els. "  Joy !  Joy !  "  she  cried.  There  was  that  in  her 
rapture  which  dazzled  Sterling  Hart,  and  his  own 
eyes  filled,  as  if  they  had  been  struck  sun  blind  or 
snow  blind.  Cara  did  not  look  at  him.  She  kissed 
the  child.  Under  the  tender  ardency  of  her  caress 
the  baby  cried,  and  when  she  began  to  remember 
that  the  world  contained  any  other  form  of  human 
life  except  that  which  she  had  contributed  to  it, 
Mr.  Hart  had  left  the  room. 

Cara  thought  that  he  might  have  supposed  it 
was  pins.  It  did  not  occur  to  the  Madonna  of  the 
Roses  that  the  surging  of  her  own  happiness  could 
have  risen  to  the  tide  mark  of  emotion  in  her  cou- 
sin's feeling.  She  listened  dreamily  to  his  retreating 
footsteps,  and  turned  her  cheek  upon  the  baby's 
head. 

"  Miss  Black  ?  "  she  called.  "  Before  my  husband 

121 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

comes  up,  will  you  get  me  some  fresh  lace?  This 
one  at  my  throat  is  crumpled.  And  Miss  Black? 
You  have  n't  heard  him  come  in,  have  you  ? " 

The  preacher  went  down  the  stairs  quietly.  His 
high  head  was  bowed.  Was  he  musing  or  praying? 
It  would  not  have  been  easy  for  him  to  say.  He 
was  conscious  of  breathing  rarefied  air.  It  seemed 
to  him  that  he  had  found  a  wayside  altar  on  some 
mountain  of  snow.  His  mood  was  remote  and 
elate. 

It  was  with  a  sense  of  disturbance  to  it  that  he 
found  himself  repeating :  — 

"  The  Children  of  Alice  call  Bartrum  Father." 

He  came  down  and  into  the  hall  with  grave,  de- 
vout eyes,  and  that  tender  curve  upon  his  Roman 
lips  which  those  who  knew  him  loved  and  watched 
for.  He  was  about  to  open  the  front  door  when  he 
remembered  that  he  had  come  in  by  the  side 
piazza  and  left  something  in  the  dining-room  — 
a  book  or  a  cane,  in  his  abstraction  he  could  not 
recall  what  —  and  turned  in  at  the  open  door  to 
capture  the  truant  impression.  As  he  did  so,  he 
was  aware  of  the  odor  of  cigarettes,  and  the  sub- 
sidence of  subdued  voices. 

The  room  was  occupied.  Mrs.  Douce  Marriot 
sat  in  one  of  the  tall  carved  chairs,  languidly  puff- 
ing at  an  Egyptian  sultana;  her  free  hand  played 

122 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

with  a  long,  slender  glass,  half  full,  upon  the  table; 
she  assumed  a  graceful  pose ;  her  fading  face,  still  to 
be  called  handsome,  had  an  attractive  vivacity ;  her 
tailor-made  gown  of  bright  dark  cloth  expressed 
her  celebrated  figure.  Dr.  Dane  stood  near  her  at 
the  sideboard.  The  glass  in  his  hand  was  emptied. 
His  color  was  slightly  raised,  and  his  laughing  eyes 
amused  themselves. 

The  two  turned  as  the  preacher  entered.  He 
stood  for  a  moment  and  regarded  them.  He  did 
not  smile.  But  Mrs.  Marriot  scintillated:  — 

"Oh,  Mr.  Hart!  Such  a  pleasure!"  She  rose 
and  made  as  if  to  extend  her  hand,  but  changed 
her  mind.  The  preacher  returned  her  bow  coldly. 
Douce  Marriot  did  not  commit  the  mistake  of  of- 
fering explanations.  She  talked  about  the  baby, 
whom,  she  observed,  she  had  hoped  to  be  allowed 
to  see. 

"At  least,  incidentally,"  added  Mrs.  Marriot. 
"And  now,  Dr.  Dane,  about  that  prescription. 
Can  I  have  it  filled  here,  or  must  one  send  to 
town?  I  have  such  a  picturesque  neuralgia! "  she 
suggested.  "  It  is  worthy  of  framing.  I  have  to  tie 
my  face  up  in  Portuguese  silk  shawls." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  Sterling  Hart,  speaking  rap- 
idly and  mechanically,  "  to  have  intruded  upon  a 
professional  call." 

Mrs.  Marriot  felt  that  the  preacher  studiously 
123 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 


avoided  an  emphasis  upon  the  adjective.  She  fol- 
lowed his  retreating  figure  with  a  shrewd,  brilliant 
glance.  Dane  put  down  the  decanter,  which  he 
had  lifted. 

"  Howdid  you  find  her?"  he  asked  lightly.  "  And 
the  boy?  How  do  you  like  the  fellow  ? " 

Mr.  Hart  did  not  reply.  There  was  that  in  the 
young  father's  tone  which  was  offensive  to  him ;  it 
had  the  modern  irreverence,  the  spirit  of  the  age, 
which  is  capable  of  saying :  The  mother  and  the 
kid.  The  preacher  took  his  book  —  it  was  "The 
Essays  of  Elia" — went  out  to  the  side  piazza,  and 
closed  the  door  between  himself  and  the  two. 

They  crossed  his  imagination  like  bacchantes 
on  a  piece  of  pottery.  As  he  stepped  out  upon 
the  lawn  he  found  himself  repeating  dully:  — 

"  The  Children  of  Alice  call  Bartrum  Father? 

The  descending  sun  flung  out  one  of  the  ban- 
ners of  advancing  autumn  upon  a  windy  sky,  whose 
clouds  marched  and  countermarched  with  the  dis- 
order of  retreat.  Upon  the  sea  the  color  was  wild 
and  capricious,  escaping  from  pure  yellow  to  blood 
red,  and  before  the  eye  had  named  the  tint,  drop- 
ping to  cold  purples  and  surly  bronze.  As  the 
preacher  trod  the  worn  grass  path  which  led  from 
the  lawn  to  the  bridge,  a  gleam  like  an  arrow  of 
vengeance  shot  across  the  horizon,  and  made,  to 

124 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

his  fancy,  as  if  it  tried  to  enter  the  ravine.  The 
tide  was  high  and  heavy ;  it  had  its  savage  tone ; 
this  deepened  as  he  approached  the  gorge,  and 
raged  so  that  it  quite  muffled  to  his  ear  the  sound 
of  human  voices  rising  from  a  source  unseen,  and 
not  audient  to  him  until  he  had  pushed  past  a 
tangle  of  overreaching  shrubbery,  and  come,  in 
fact,  almost  to  the  bridge.  This  was  wet  with  spray, 
and  trembled  stolidly,  as  iron  does  under  shock, 
with  the  reverberation  of  the  surf  below.  As  he 
hurried  on,  uncomfortably  conscious  of  inexpli- 
cable tragedy,  the  cries  increased  and  became 
articulate. 

"  Blank  you ! you ! you  to !  I  '11 

fling  your carcass  to  blank  and  good 

riddance  to  it !  " 

Then  came  the  answering  yell :  — 

"  Help !  Help  !  Help !  Murder !  Help  !  Dr.  Dane ! 
Mr.  Hart !  Somebody  !  Anybody !  Murder  !  Mur- 
der!" 

" you  to ! you  to ! " 

Between  gasps  of  rage  the  first  voice  returned 
this  monotonous  anathema  with  the  persistence 
of  a  savage  whose  imagination  is  incapable  of 
varying  his  profanity. 

Crouched  beneath  a  group  of  lindens,  whose 
low-lying,  well-trimmed  branches,  sweeping  to  the 
ground,  almost  covered  him  from  sight,  knelt  a 

125 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

white-haired,  hard-faced  man.  This  was  Solomon 
Hops.  He  had  no  coat;  his  woolen  shirt-sleeves 
were  rolled  to  his  shoulders;  his  sturdy  arms 
gripped  at  something  which  he  was  holding  over 
the  edge  of  the  chasm.  His  face,  purple  with  pas- 
sion, glared  down. 

Mr.  Hart  had  pushed,  running  through  the  lin- 
dens ;  but  when  he  saw  what  he  saw,  he  stopped  and 
trod  quietly.  For  he  perceived  how  tremendous 
would  be  the  consequences  of  any  mistake  on  his 
part.  He  dared  not  excite  the  old  man  by  startling 
him,  but  not  to  interfere  was  out  of  the  question. 
Writhing  in  the  clutches  of  Solomon  Hops  — 
oaths  above,  and  death  below  —  a  human  figure 
hung  partly  supported  by  a  strip  of  shelving  rock 
a  few  feet  below  the  edge  of  the  ravine.  This  shot 
one  hundred  feet  down  to  the  cauldron  that  boils 
through  the  deepest  and  angriest  fissure  in  the 
granite  of  the  East  Shore. 

Although  the  twilight  was  closing  fast,  it  was 
not  so  dark  but  that  Sterling  Hart  was  able  to 
recognize  the  figure  of  the  doomed  and  shrieking 
man.  It  was  Timothy  George,  the  caterer.  His 
cry  came  up,  raucous  and  wheezing,  like  the  cry 
of  a  dying  animal :  — 

"Mr.  Hart!  Mr.  Hart!  Save  me!  He's  a  ma- 
niac  !   He  's  a  murderer !  Oh,  save  me  !  " 

"And  he's  a  brute  beast!"  raved  Solomon 
126 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO    PART 

Hops.  "  I  histed  him  over,  and  I  '11  heave  him 
down.  Lemme  alone,  Mr.  Hart.  This  ain't  your 
business.  It  ain't  anybody's  but  mine  and  his'n. 
Lemme  be,  sir.    I  don't  care  if  I  do  swing  for  it. 

I  am  goin'  to  send  this  fellow  to ,  so  help  me 

God!'' 

"  Oh,  come,  come,  Mr.  Hops ! "  said  Hart, 
quietly.  He  spoke  with  what  might  be  called  the 
peremptory  tact  of  one  who  is  accustomed  to  con- 
trolling masses  of  men.  "  Whatever  wrong  he  has 
done  you  I  '11  see  righted.  But  if  you  don't  look 
out  you  '11  let  him  fall.  It  is  n't  possible  that  you 
really  mean  to  commit  murder,  of  course.  You 
have  given  him  a  good  round  scare — why  not  let 
him  go  at  that  ?  Here,  I  '11  help  you.  Firmly  now, 
gentle  there !  It 's  going  to  be  harder  getting  him 
up  than  it  was  letting  him  down.  Perhaps  it  is 
just  as  well  I  happened  along." 

While  he  was  speaking  the  preacher  had  thrown 
himself  flat  upon  the  brow  of  the  rocks,  and  thrust 
down  his  mighty  arms. 

"  Blank  him  to !  "  repeated  Solomon  Hops. 

"  Lemme  heave  him  over.  He  ain't  fit  to  live.  He 
ain't  fit  to  trod  the  solid  yearth  again." 

"  If  that  is  the  case,"  said  the  preacher,  sooth- 
ingly, "  I  '11  back  you  up,  Mr.  Hops,  and  you  shall 
settle  your  quarrel,  man  to  man.  You  shan't  settle 
it  this  way.    Ease  off  a  little  till  I  get  a  firm  grip. 

127 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO    PART 

No?  You  won't?  Stand  back,  there  then!"  cried 
Sterling  Hart,  commandingly.  "  Back,  I  say.  I 
won't  have  you  commit  murder  —  not  before  my 
eyes.   Back  there  !   I  '11  get  him  up  alone." 

This,  with  the  giant  in  his  arms,  the  clergyman 
did.  The  scramble,  the  struggle,  the  shouts,  the 
cries,  the  tremendous  strain  of  muscle  answering 
to  muscle  —  these  occupied  one  of  the  immeasur- 
able atoms  of  time  in  which  lives  or  souls  may  be 
saved  or  lost.  A  wave  from  the  churning  chasm 
clambered  a  hundred  feet  after  the  cowering  crea- 
ture who  had  escaped  it,  and  soaked  him  as  he 
crawled  from  the  edge  of  the  gulf,  and  fell  sprawl- 
ing. The  fellow's  face  was  scarcely  whiter  than 
that  of  the  preacher,  who  stood  towering  above 
him.  Solomon  Hops  made  a  gurgling  noise  in  his 
throat. 

"  There 's  other  ways.  I  kicked  him  offen  my 
doorsteps,  and  he  run.  I  chased  him  and  then  I 
done  it.    But  there 's  other  ways." 

"  If  you  '11  tell  me  what  the  trouble  is,"  began 
Sterling  Hart,  with  authoritative  persuasion.  "  But 
you  see  you  have  n't." 

He  still  stood  between  the  two  men,  whom,  un- 
noticed by  them,  he  was  gradually  drawing  from 
the  edge  of  the  ravine.  It  was  darkening  so  fast 
that  the  three  figures  melted  into  the  dusk,  and 
looked  like  trees  or  shrubbery  fantastically  cut  in 

128 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

the  human  form  and  endowed  with  human  pas- 
sions, and  the  voices  that  expressed  them. 

"  T  ain't  fit  to  tell,"  gasped  Solomon  Hops.  "  It 
has  to  do  with  a  lady.  It  has  to  do  with  a  girl  — 
mine  —  my  girl." 

"  Ah ! "  said  Hart,  in  a  tone  of  stinging  con- 
tempt. "  It  is  that,  is  it  ?  " 

The  scorn  in  his  voice  was  like  the  lash  of  a 
whip  in  the  hands  of  an  archangel.  In  all  his  life 
Timothy  George  had  never  known  what  it  was  to 
feel  such  shame  before.  He  cowered  visibly. 

"  I  'd  been  drinking,"  he  muttered. 

"  He  insulted  her,"  panted  the  old  man.  "  My 
girl !  He  took  her  to  Sandasket  on  that  there 
blank  trolley  line.  If  her  mother 'd  been  a-livin'  — 
but  livin'  mothers  let  'em  do  it,  and  there  you  are. 
She  did  n't  take  any  money  with  her  —  the  way 
girls  do  when  they  go  off  with  a  fellow.  She 
trusted  him.  She  was  keepin'  company  with  him. 
She  said, '  Father,  we  '11  take  the  nine  o'clock  car.' 
It  come  to  be  ten  o'clock ;  it  come  to  be  eleven, 
and  got  to  be  midnight.  Mr.  Hart,  I  set  watchin' 
for  her  all  that  night.  'Long  about  five  o'clock, 
when  the  birds  were  singin',  she  come  crawlin' 
home.  '  He  let  the  last  train  go,'  she  said.  '  Father, 
he  insulted  me,  and  he  's  the  only  man  that  ever 

did.'  (Blank  you  to you !)   She  dars  n't 

go  to  the  police  because  of  the  talk  and  the  news- 

129 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

papers.  She  —  she  —  she  —  I  don't  know  how  she 
done  it,  for  she  don't  tell.  Maybe  she'd  'a'  told 
her  mother  more.  But  Nannie  got  away  and  run. 
She  got  out  into  the  road  and  she  began  to  run. 
Nannie  she  run  till  she  dropped,  and  fell,  and  up 
and  run  again  —  in  the  country,  in  the  dark,  at 
one  o'clock  at  night  —  and  so  she  struck  the  trol- 
ley line  and  walked  it  —  through  the  woods  and 
cross  the  meaders  —  thirteen  miles  the  whole  way 
home,  and  tumbled  down  come  mornin'  on  her 
father's  steps.  .  .  .  My  girl !  Her  that  everybody 
set  so  much  by  —  so  pretty,  and  gradooated  at  the 
high  school  —  and  dressed  so  delicate,  and  has 
such  ways  —  like  a  lady  —  and  could  of  had  her 
pick  of  anybody  —  not  a  fellow  in  Balsam  Groves 
but  would  of  asked  her  if  he  darst  —  and  never  a 
word  ag'in  her  all  her  days  more'n  ag'in  the  Virgin 
Mary  settin'  on  a  star  in  heaven.  .  .  .  Nannie ! 
And  now  it 's  all  over  this  town  — " 

The  preacher's  clutch  tightened  on  the  coat  col- 
lar of  the  collapsing  figure  that  he  held  at  arm's 
length  from  the  reach  of  the  old  man's  fury.  As 
if  he  had  been  a  rat,  and  the  distinguished  divine 
a  terrier,  Timothy  George  felt  himself  shaken  to 
and  fro  in  two  tremendous  hands. 

"  What  have  you  got  to  say  for  yourself  ?  "  thun- 
dered Mr.  Hart. 

"  I  'd  been  drinking,"  pleaded  Timothy.  "  If 
130 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

there  's  any  talk,  I  '11  marry  her ;  I  'm  ready  any 
time." 

"  You ! "  A  voice  like  the  voice  of  a  formless 
spirit  vibrated  out  of  the  dark.  "  Marry  you  ?  If 
you  were  the  only  man  left  upon  this  earth, — and 
the  whole  world  were  packed  with  women  talking 
about  me,  —  I  'd  be  cut  in  inch  pieces  by  their 
scissors,  —  I  'd  be  stung  to  death  by  their  tongues; 
before  I  'd  marry  —  you." 

Pale  and  panting,  for  she  had  run  all  the  way 
from  home,  Nannie,  in  her  gray  skirt  and  white 
blouse,  stood  swaying  in  the  wind  that  blew  rudely 
from  the  sea. 

"  Send  him  away,  Mr.  Hart,"  she  said  more 
quietly.  "  That 's  all  I  want.  Don't  let  Father  do 
him  a  harm  —  the  scandal  —  men  don't  think.  It 
would  make  everything  worse.  He  has  n't  hurt 
me  .  .  .  only  my  reputation,"  added  Nannie,  drear- 
ily. "  I  guess  I  can  stand  that  somehow.  There  's 
only  one  thing  I  can't  stand,  —  that  is  his  ever  set- 
ting his  foot  in  Balsam  from  this  day  on  forever." 

"  If  he  ever  does,"  interpolated  Solomon  Hops, 
grimly,  "  I  '11  kill  him  on  the  spot,  and  all  the  par- 
sons this  side  of  hell  shan't  stop  me,  either." 

"You're  hard  on  me,  Nan,"  pleaded  Timothy 
George.  "  Rum  done  it." 

With  one  scornful  white  finger  Nannie  pointed 
into    the    night.     She    made    no    other   answer. 

131 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

Timothy  hung  his  head  and  cowered  away.  His 
drenched  clothes,  soaked  from  the  surf  in  the 
chasm,  spattered  her  as  he  passed  her  by.  He 
thought  how  she  used  to  worry  over  him  if  he  wet 
his  feet  on  a  stormy  night.  Nannie  had  been  very 
fond  of  him.  He  experienced  the  surprise  of  a  low 
man  before  the  incredible  scorn  of  a  high-hearted 
woman  whom  he  has  alienated  by  one  fatal  act 
of  brutality.  He  turned  like  the  cur  he  was,  and 
crawled.  The  girl  put  her  hand  through  her  fa- 
ther's shaking  arm  and  led  the  old  man  away,  and 
no  member  of  this  singular  group  spoke  an  articu- 
late word. 

Solomon  Hops  might  have  been  heard  mutter- 
ing: " him  to "  But  his  utterance  was 

thick ;  he  was  drunk  with  anger,  and  staggered. 

When  Timothy  George  had  slunk  over  the  lawn 
by  a  cross-cut  to  the  street,  he  felt  a  hand  upon 
his  shoulder.  The  preacher,  who  remembered  that 
the  Founder  of  his  faith  lived  and  died  for  the 
contemptible  as  well  as  for  the  respectable,  stood 
high  above  the  cringing  figure. 

"  Nevertheless,  Timothy,"  he  said,  "  it  is  not 
necessary  to  go  to  perdition  for  this." 

"  Ain't  it  ?  "  asked  Timothy.  "  What  place  else 
is  there  ?  " 

He  stared  stupidly  at  the  minister,  and  turned 
on  his  heel. 

132 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

"  Rum  done  it,"  he  repeated  monotonously. 
"  Rum  done  it." 

Sterling  Hart  returned  slowly  to  the  chasm,  and 
was  about  to  cross  the  bridge  to  his  own  house, 
when  Clyde  dashed  out  of  the  shrubbery,  barking 
with  the  ferocity  of  a  collie  who  has  arrived  upon 
the  scene  of  excitement  too  late  to  be  of  use. 

"  I  had  to  unchain  him,"  observed  Dane,  step- 
ping up  rapidly.  "  He  would  have  broken  his  neck. 
What  was  all  that  noise  —  the  cries,  and  the  rest 
of  it  ?  It  sounded  like  a  fight.  Were  you  in  at  the 
death?" 

"  Pretty  nearly,"  replied  Hart.  He  related  the 
circumstances  in  a  few  words.  "  Was  your  wife 
disturbed  by  it  ?  "  he  asked  anxiously.  "  Did  she 
know  anything  about  it  ?    I  was  afraid  she  might." 

"  I  don't  think  so,"  returned  Dane.  "  Excepting 
Clyde,  of  course ;  she  must  have  heard  Clyde  — 
he  shrieked  so.  I  have  just  been  down  the  avenue 
and  back.  Mrs.  Marriot  came  without  her  horses, 
and  she  was  afraid  —  you  know  how  dark  our 
avenue  is.   I  took  her  to  the  end  of  it." 

"  Then  you  have  n't  seen  Cousin  Carolyn  yet  ? 
You  are  not  sure  that  she  knows  nothing  of  this 
unfortunate  disturbance  ? " 

"  Why,  no,"  said  Dane.  "  I  have  n't  seen  her 
yet.    I  am  going  to  her  now,  at  once." 

133 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 


"  If  she  should  inquire,"  suggested  Mr.  Hart, 
hesitating  a  little,  "  perhaps  you  will  be  so  good 
as  to  tell  her  to  feel  no  concern  about  the  matter. 
It  is  all  in  my  hands.  I  will  attend  to  it.  She  is 
rather  fond  of  the  girl,  and  this  will  distress  her. 
We  must  keep  it  from  her  for  the  present." 

"  Oh,  certainly,"  said  Dane  in  his  light  way. 
"  It  was  a  confounded  scene.  I  did  n't  know  the 
fellow  drank  to  that  depth." 

The  two  men  parted  without  further  conversa- 
tion. The  preacher  passed  over  the  gulf  that  sepa- 
rated his  home  from  the  other.  The  iron  bridge 
vibrated  gently  beneath  his  slow,  restrained  tread. 
He  still  walked  as  if  he  were  afraid  of  disturbing 
somebody.  His  head  fell  forward  on  his  breast. 
He  was  sick  at  soul,  nauseated  with  life,  and  with 
that  which  is  called  love. 


CHAPTER   IX 

The  collie  Clyde  ran  the  length  of  the  avenue, 
nose  down  and  sniffing  anxiously.  At  the  road 
he  planted  his  feet,  and  stood,  like  the  iron  dogs 
that  are  set  to  guard  old-fashioned  estates.  One 
ear  pointed  upwards  and  forwards ;  but  the  other 
lopped  down  —  as  a  collie's  ears  will  disagree  when 
he  is  perplexed.  The  dog's  eyes  were  heavy  with 
speculation ;  he  experienced  unshared  and  unshar- 
able  responsibilities. 

The  street  was  almost  deserted,  and  cracked 
with  frost,  for  it  was  late  November,  and  the  morn- 
ing bleakly  cold.  Far  in  the  crisp  distance,  driven 
rapidly  through  the  village,  a  solitary  carriage 
whirled;  it  was  drawn  by  a  cream-white  horse, 
and  without  coachman  or  footman ;  its  single  oc- 
cupant a  gentleman  who  looked  neither  to  right 
nor  left,  but  rode  abstractedly.  The  collie  had  not 
arrived  in  season  to  observe  whether  the  man, 
who  had  driven  from  the  direction  of  the  city, 
had  glanced  at  the  Sterling  place  as  he  went  by. 
Charged  by  some  powerful  sense  of  canine  duty, 
the  dog  began  to  examine  the  hoof  marks  and 
wheel  marks  of   this  team;    nosing  them  thor- 

135 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

oughly,  and  scenting  the  air  through  which  they 
had  passed.  After  a  few  moments'  hesitation  he 
began  to  follow  them,  slowly  at  first;  then  he 
broke  into  a  long,  loping  gait,  which  increased  as 
he  reached  the  village  square.  One  or  two  trades- 
men who  met  the  dog  spoke  to  him :  — 

"  Clyde  ?  Why,  Clyde  !  You  're  going  the  wrong 
way." 

A  grocer  called  out :  "  Better  go  home,  Clyde. 
Your  folks  will  be  thinking  you  're  lost." 

Disdainfully  disregarding  these  impertinences, 
the  collie  ran  on.  The  distance  between  himself 
and  the  open  phaeton  with  the  solitary  occupant 
had  lessened  perceptibly ;  he  found  it  a  mortifica- 
tion to  admit  that  he  could  not  overtake  the  car- 
riage, and  cantered  after  it  with  an  angry  anxiety. 
Beyond  the  chocolate  eclair  house  of  Solomon 
Hops,  a  road  turned  abruptly  from  the  highway, 
skirting  along  the  cranberry  swamps  of  Balsam 
Groves,  and  slightly  ascending  as  it  made  for  the 
great  woods,  known  by  the  name  of  the  county  — 
the  densest,  the  largest,  in  the  eastern  part  of  the 
state.  Towards  this  forest  the  phaeton,  slowing  a 
little  as  the  road  climbed,  began  to  move  steadily. 
The  dog,  but  not  rapidly,  gained  upon  it.  The 
road  had  now  narrowed  to  a  cart  path,  and  branches 
of  oaks  and  chestnuts,  pines  and  maple,  closed 
about  the  head  of  the  rider.  A  wild-apple  bough 

136 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 


swept  so  low  as  almost  to  hit  him  in  the  face, 
and  he  pushed  it  aside  with  all  his  strength.  He 
did  not  appear  to  have  very  much,  and  grappled 
with  the  stout  branches  weakly.  In  doing  so  he 
turned  his  head,  and  looked  back  down  the  rough 
way  on  which  he  had  begun  to  climb  the  hill 
known  by  the  country  folk  as  Balsam  Mountain. 
But  the  apple  bough  rebounded  behind  him  and 
screened  from  his  sight  the  view  of  a  pursuing 
dog  —  a  breathing,  moving  spot  of  black  and  tan, 
whose  pantings,  though  they  could  neither  be 
seen  nor  heard,  were  somehow  to  be  inferred  and 
felt. 

The  dog,  however,  in  that  critical  instant,  and 
at  that  baffled  distance,  had  seen  the  man.  It  has 
been  said  that  dogs,  in  all  probability,  regard  the 
master  of  the  household  as  the  chief  of  the  tribe. 
Clyde,  who  had  never  taken  the  oath  of  allegiance 
to  Dr.  Dane,  had  recognized  the  countenance  of 
his  chief,  —  the  white  and  rigid  features  of  Mr. 
Sterling.  He  gave  a  yelp  of  joy,  and  cantered  up 
the  climbing  road.  But  the  collie  was  not  a  young 
dog,  and  had  run  far  and  fast.  It  was  a  personal 
humiliation  to  admit  that  he  could  not  take  Bal- 
sam Mountain  on  the  gallop,  but  this  fact  was 
forced  upon  him ;  he  lost  ground,  fell  back,  and 
indeed  found  himself  obliged  to  stop  for  his  breath, 
drop  flat  on  his  side,  and  rest.  By  this  delay  he 

137 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 


lost  time,  and  the  chief  of  the  tribe  disappeared 
from  his  strained  and  anxious  sight. 

Rollinstall  Sterling  drove  on  slowly.  Now  and 
then  he  spoke  to  his  horse  —  very  kindly ;  he  was 
a  man  who  loved  horses — and  encouraged  it  up 
the  rough  road.  After  a  time  he  reached,  as  he 
had  known  that  he  should,  the  spot  where  wheels 
could  climb  no  farther ;  he  got  out  of  the  phaeton 
with  the  slow  motions  of  an  elderly  man  to  whom 
life  and  limb  have  become  objects  of  caution,  and 
fastened  the  horse  by  a  rope  halter  to  a  tree.  After 
some  reflection  he  thought  better  of  this,  and  re- 
moved the  tie  rein,  turning  the  team  so  that  it 
faced  towards  the  bottom  of  the  hill,  and  standing 
it  carefully  on  such  level  as  he  could  find.  The 
woods  were  sprinkled  with  small  stones,  mouthf  uls 
bitten  from  the  granite  of  the  Cape,  and  he  stooped 
and  placed  some  of  these  under  the  wheels,  so  that 
the  weight  should  not  come  too  heavily  upon  the 
animal  in  its  constrained  position. 

The  spot  where  the  team  had  halted  was  a  clear- 
ing, and  gave  an  open  outlook  upon  the  meadows. 
In  fact,  an  important  object  in  the  clearing  could 
be  seen  from  certain  points  below,  and  Solomon 
Hops,  conducting  a  surveyor  over  his  most  hope- 
ful cranberry  lot,  made  a  telescope  of  his  hands, 
peered  through  it,  and  said :  — 
:  138 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

"  Looks  like  Death  'n'  the  pale  horse  up  yonder." 

When  Mr.  Sterling  had  removed  the  tie  rein, 
he  replaced  it  by  a  bit  of  light  cord  or  stout  string. 
The  pale  horse  was  a  cribber,  and  if  occasion  called, 
could  gnaw  the  string,  and  would.  The  master 
patted  the  horse,  and  turned  away  up  the  "  Moun- 
tain." When  he  had  climbed  a  short  distance,  he 
returned  and  blanketed  the  animal  tenderly. 

The  man  climbed  on:  quickly  at  first,  then  he 
began  to  lag ;  his  breath  shortened,  and  he  sat 
down.  He  was  in  the  heart  of  the  forest  and  on 
the  height  of  the  hill.  The  woods  closed  in  around 
him  solemnly.  Their  dampness  struck  to  his  aging 
blood,  and  he  felt  very  cold.  He  shivered,  and 
buttoned  his  overcoat  to  his  thin  throat.  Suddenly 
it  occurred  to  him  that  before  very  long  he  should 
be  colder. 

His  hand  crept  to  his  breast  pocket,  and  with- 
drew a  small  object,  which  he  laid  upon  the  moss 
at  his  side.  It  was  red-cup  moss,  and  he  noticed 
the  tiny  tapers  of  color  that  burned  and  broke 
where  they  were  crushed.  An  acorn  fell  from  some- 
where with  a  soft  thud,  and  a  squirrel  scampered 
after  it.  The  squirrel  stopped,  and  regarded  the 
man,  who  saw  that  the  little  creature's  heart  beat 
wildly. 

"A  bird  shot  would  stop  it,"  he  thought.  "How 
little  it  takes ! " 

139 


THOUGH    LIFE   US   DO   PART 

After  a  while  he  said  aloud :  — 

"What's  the  use  of  waiting?"  His  shaking 
hand  stole  to  the  thing  upon  the  red-cupped  moss, 
picked  it  up,  and  laid  it  down. 

"  I  don't  know  that  there  's  any  hurry  about  it, 
after  all,"  he  thought.  He  took  out  his  pencil  and 
pocket  memorandum,  and  began  to  cast  up  some 
accounts.  This  absorbed  him  for  a  time  —  proba- 
bly a  very  short  one,  but  he  could  not  have  told. 
He  put  the  book  and  pencil  down  presently,  and 
sat  staring  at  the  underbrush.  The  forest  was  heavy 
at  that  point,  and  pressed  upon  him,  as  if  it  had 
pursued  and  surrounded  him.  He  could  not  see 
the  sky,  and  on  reflection  was  glad  that  he  could 
not.  The  muscles  of  his  frozen  face  stiffened ;  he 
looked  straight  before  him ;  a  little  snake  crawled 
from  somewhere  and  slid  away,  watching  him  with 
cold  and  narrow  eyes;  he  did  not  observe  the 
snake.  His  head  fell  upon  his  breast,  and  then  into 
his  hands. 

No  one  could  hear — oh,  no  one  could  hear  him, 
and  the  man  began  to  sob.  As  he  sobbed,  he 
groaned.  All  the  signs  of  suffering  that  civiliza- 
tion teaches  us  to  repress  fought  their  way  to  the 
surface  of  him,  in  the  savage  solitude  of  uncom- 
panioned  Nature.  Terrible  sounds,  such  as  the 
deepest  human  tenderness  never  witnesses  from 
any  man  of  us  —  sounds  which  friend  nor  wife 

140 


THOUGH   LIFE   US  DO   PART 

nor  daughter  may  ever  hear — confided  themselves 
to  the  silence  of  the  forest.  This  escape  of  emo- 
tion is  the  refuge  of  those  whose  life  is  broken  at 
the  roots;  it  is  the  last  right  of  the  despairing, 
as  it  was  the  first  instinct  of  the  wailing  infant. 
Rollinstall  Sterling  wept  with  the  freedom  'of  a 
child  and  the  anguish  of  a  disgraced  and  aging 
man. 

He  was  so  absorbed  in  his  misery  that  he  had 
not  heard  the  crackling  of  the  moss  and  twigs ; 
and  when  a  soft,  wet  tongue  lapped  his  hand,  he 
started  with  superstitious  terror,  cried  out,  and 
sprang. 

The  motion  knocked  the  pistol,  which  lay  at  full 
cock ;  it  went  off,  and  the  woods  rang  and  rever- 
berated with  the  shot. 

At  the  report  the  collie  leaped  in  fright,  and 
cuddled  against  his  master  like  a  lap  dog.  Mr. 
Sterling  stroked  him  kindly. 

"  Never  mind  it,  Clyde !  There  are  four  car- 
tridges left.  But  I  won't  bother  you  with  them. 
You  can  go  back  the  way  you  came.  Clyde !  Go 
home,  sir.  I  do  not  want  you,  Clyde.  Go  home,  I 
say." 

The  collie  wagged  his  tail  pleasantly,  but  did 
not  move. 

"  Go  home !  "  repeated  the  master.  "  Go  home  to 
your  mistress.  There  is  nothing  that  you  can  do 

141 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 


for  me;  kisses  won't  help  me  now.  I  never  was 
very  fond  of  dogs'  kisses.  You  know  she  taught 
you  not  to  bother  me.  Go  home,  Clyde!" 

Clyde  had  always  obeyed  Mr.  Sterling,  of  whom 
he  stood  in  considerable  awe;  but  this  time  he 
refused  outright.  Into  the  animal's  beautiful  eyes 
a  strange  entreaty  leaped.  He  put  his  paws  about 
the  old  man's  neck,  and  delicately  began  to  lap  his 
ear. 

Mr.  Sterling  stared  at  him,  trembling.  He 
thought :  "  I  never  can  do  it  with  the  dog  looking 
on.  I  must  get  rid  of  him  somehow."  He  gave  the 
creature  a  rough  push.  Clyde  answered  it  with 
grieved  reproach,  but  he  did  not  stir.  After  a  few 
moments  he  crawled  up,  and  with  the  timidity  of 
a  rebuffed  collie  licked  the  master's  hand  again. 
Neither  the  man  nor  the  dog  spoke,  and  this  pan- 
tomime of  advance  and  repulse  continued  for  some 
moments.  Then  Mr.  Sterling,  with  his  natural 
stateliness,  began  to  argue  with  the  dog. 

"  You  don't  understand,  sir.  You  have  mistaken 
my  meaning,  sir.  I  don't  want  you,  Clyde.  Go 
home,  I  say!" 

The  dog  crept  up  and  laid  his  head  in  the  collie 
fashion,  in  perfect  silence,  on  his  master's  knee. 
He  had  the  appearance  of  having  come  there  to 
stay.  He  was  a  heavy  dog,  and  it  was  difficult  to 
move  him.  After  some  thought  Mr.  Sterling  tore 

142 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

a  leaf  from  his  note-book,  hunted  for  his  pencil, 
and  wrote :  — 

To  the  Reverend  Sterling  Hart, 
Balsam  Groves. 
Dear  Sterling,  —  I  sent  you  a  letter  from  town 
by  private  hand.  My  man  will  bring  it  out,  but  it 
would  not  reach  you  till  noon.  Clyde  has  followed 
me,  God  knows  how.  I  cannot  get  rid  of  him  any 
other  way,  and  I  am  sending  him  down  with  this. 
In  view  of  possible  accident  to  the  note,  I  cannot 
explain  myself  further.  You  will  find  my  white 
mare  in  the  clearing  halfway  up  Balsam  Moun- 
tain. Please  see  that  she  is  given  a  good  supper, 
if  you  find  her  before  dark.  My  letter  will  give  you 

full  particulars. 

Yours, 

Rollinstall  Sterling. 

He  took  an  old  envelope  from  his  pocket,  read- 
dressed  and  resealed  it,  and  showed  it  to  the  dog, 
who  sniffed  at  it  slowly  and  intelligently. 

"Clyde,  go  home.  Go  home  with  this  letter. 
Don't  take  it  to  your  mistress.  Take  it  to  Mr. 
Hart.  Understand,  Clyde !  Not  mistress,  but  Mr. 
Hart.  Don't  stay  here  any  longer.  Don't  stop  with 
the  horse.  The  horse  doesn't  want  you.  I  don't 
want  you,  sir.  Go  home,  sir.  Carry  the  letter  home 
—  to  Mr.  Hart." 

143 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 


These  words,  articulated  very  slowly  and  dis- 
tinctly, were  repeated  two  or  three  times.  The 
collie  listened  to  them,  at  first  with  one  ear  up  and 
the  other  down ;  but  presently  both  shot  upwards 
and  forwards,  and  comprehension  fell  on  every 
feature  of  his  alert  and  handsome  face.  He  seized 
the  note  and  trotted  off.  After  he  had  gone  a  few 
steps  he  returned,  dropped  the  paper,  and  humbly 
kissed  the  old  man's  trembling  hands.  Then  his 
jaws  closed  upon  the  letter  with  a  snap  that  the 
most  celebrated  fighters  in  Balsam  could  not  have 
loosened,  and  he  shot  down  the  cart  path  at  a  gait 
which  rapidly  took  him  out  of  Mr.  Sterling's  sadly 
pursuing  eyes.  The  white  mare,  tethered  by  her 
piece  of  twine,  whinnied  as  the  collie  cantered  by. 
But  Clyde,  though  he  recognized  the  salutation 
by  a  civil  swish  of  the  tail,  did  not  stop.  He  took 
the  descent  of  Balsam  Mountain  mightily,  with 
tremendous  strides  and  leaps.  Two  or  three  times, 
to  get  his  breath,  he  had  to  drop  the  letter,  but 
he  put  a  paw  upon  it,  bit  it  up  again,  and  bounded 
on. 

In  the  village  no  one  happened  to  observe  him, 
and  the  collie  made  his  way  through  the  square, 
undisturbed  and  undiverted  from  his  purpose. 
This  took  him  doggedly  homewards.  At  the  ave- 
nue of  the  Sterling  place  he  seemed  confused, 
paused,  and   looked  about  with  a  troubled   air. 

144 


THOUGH   LIFE  US   DO   PART 

After  some  hesitation,  he  walked  up  the  avenue 
perplexedly,  glancing  towards  the  house  where 
the  dearest  mistress  in  the  world  with  the  newest 
and  the  most  objectionable  baby  was  sitting  on 
the  sunniest  piazza  in  a  windless  corner  that 
looked  upon  the  sea. 

Halfway  up  the  avenue  the  dog  turned  abruptly 
and  made  a  cross-cut  towards  the  iron  bridge. 
Over  this,  as  chance  decreed,  Mr.  Hart  was  walk- 
ing slowly.  The  collie,  who  was  now  a  good  deal 
exhausted,  weakly  dropped  the  note  at  the  preach- 
er's feet :  it  fell  short,  and  blew  over  the  ravine. 

As  luck  and  the  winds  would  have  it,  the  paper 
lodged  on  the  shelving  strip  of  rock  where  Tim- 
othy George  had  hung  and  clung  for  his  life.  A 
strong  railing  had  been  set  there.  Mr.  Hart,  being 
poignantly  familiar  with  the  topography  of  the 
spot,  flung  himself  on  the  ground,  stretched  his 
hand  beneath  the  railing,  reached  over,  and  quietly 
possessed  himself  of  the  letter. 

Rollinstall  Sterling  sat  with  his  chin  in  his 
hands.  His  eyes  looked  into  the  woods,  but  saw 
nothing.  The  great  perspective  of  the  forest  seemed 
to  have  melted  from  him,  and  only  a  little  fore- 
ground of  dead  leaves  and  bare  thicket  remained. 
He  shivered  with  the  cold,  and  now  that  the  col- 
lie had  gone,  he  felt  unendurably  lonely.   He  was 

i45 


THOUGH   LIFE  US  DO   PART 

not  a  dog  lover,  and  had  never  been  deeply 
attached  to  Clyde,  who  seemed  to  him  like  a  re- 
tainer, loyal  and  worthy,  and  to  be  treated  accord- 
ingly. But  despair,  which  snatches  at  every  trifling 
assuagement,  had  its  way  with  him,  and  the  fact 
was  that  Mr.  Sterling  was  pathetically  touched  by 
the  dog's  appreciation. 

"After  all,"  he  thought,  "  Clyde  respects  me." 
He  added,  "And  trusts  me." 

This  deference,  this  confidence,  taking  the  last 
form  which  life  could  now  offer  him,  moved  him 
more  than  he  would  have  thought  possible.  It 
could  not  be  denied  that  for  a  long  time,  or  for 
what  seemed  to  him  a  long  time,  the  incident  of 
Clyde's  appearance  and  departure  affected  the  old 
man  profoundly.  It  might  also  be  said  that  it  led 
him  to  reconsider  his  purpose. 

He  picked  up  his  memorandum  book,  that  still 
lay  on  the  moss  beside  the  pistol,  and  began  to 
cast  up  accounts  again.  He  did  this  rapidly  and 
mechanically,  as  if  the  sum  were  too  familiar  to 
deserve  attention;  and  with  a  groan  he  pushed 
the  book  back  into  his  breast  pocket. 

He  thought—  What  did  he  think  ?  What  does 
a  man  think  who  has  lived  a  long  and  honored 
life,  and  finds  or  seeks  at  the  end  of  it  a  dishon- 
ored death  ?  This  one  bore  an  eminent  mercantile 
name,  one  of  the  oldest,  one  of  the  most  enviable 

146 


THOUGH  LIFE   US   DO   PART 

in  the  state.  Wealth,  ease,  luxury,  —  these  had 
been  accepted  as  matters  of  course,  and  with  the 
instinct  of  his  good  blood  he  had  never  overvalued 
them.  Position  he  had  valued,  and  all  that  goes 
with  it,  —  the  deference,  the  confidence,  and  the 
honor  of  men ;  these  he  had  possessed. 

In  the  financial  world  his  credit  rung  gold  true ; 
his  opinions  were  sought ;  his  advice  was  followed; 
his  views  of  affairs  were  rated  as  driven  men  still 
in  the  trampling  stampede  rate  the  wisdom  of  a 
superior  who  has  withdrawn  himself  in  an  hon- 
ored age  from  the  scramble  of  youth  and  the 
march  of  middle  life.  It  was  a  matter  of  course 
that  he  should  be  the  trustee  of  a  dozen  estates. 

Above  the  mere  material  advantages  of  a  rich 
man's  career  Rollins  tall  Sterling  had  estimated  — 
no,  let  us  say  that  he  supposed  himself  to  have 
estimated  —  the  plain,  spiritual  blessing  of  charac- 
ter; the  possession  of  unquestionable  integrity; 
the  pride  of  an  irreproachable  name. 

Was  it  this  very  assurance,  in  a  measure,  that 
had  led  him  to  trifle  with  it?  So  confident  of  him- 
self, so  confident  of  the  confidence  of  others,  had 
he  leaned  too  heavily  upon  his  spotless  reputation, 
till  the  weakened  bridge  broke  beneath  him? 
Probably  he  himself  would  have  been  the  last  to 
be  able  to  identify  the  tortuous  road  by  which  he 
had  traveled.  It  may  take  years  to  ruin  a  life ;  but 

i47 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

the  ruin  of  a  soul  lies  in  the  first  deliberate,  dis- 
honorable choice  —  the  choice  that  is  confused 
perhaps  with  the  higher  motive,  or  discolored  by 
some  self-delusion  so  adroit  that  the  nature  of  the 
deed  escapes  the  careless  perception.  To  retrieve 
dishonor  is  more  possible  and  less  rare  for  the 
rude  than  for  the  cultivated  man. 

There  is  no  physical  malady  so  difficult  of  dis- 
guise as  moral  disorder ;  and  none  so  hard  to  heal. 
The  incurable  diseases  are  yielding,  one  by  one, 
to  science.  The  fatal  illnesses  of  the  soul  remain 
half  studied  and  still  unconquered. 

Rollinstall  Sterling,  shivering  on  Balsam  Moun- 
tain, thought  less  of  the  wrong  that  he  had  done 
than  of  the  opinions  people  would  form  of  him  for 
having  done  it ;  this,  at  least,  was  the  way  his 
mind  worked  at  first.  The  blot  upon  his  reputa- 
tion seemed  to  be  more  important  than  the  black- 
ness of  his  soul.  It  was  as  if  his  life  were  a 
kinetoscope,  whose  plates  slid  before  him  rapidly; 
he  sat  like  a  spectator  who  has  paid  a  price  — 
an  awful  price  —  to  see  the  show.  Curiously  irrele- 
vant memories,  selected  by  who  knew  what  power, 
forced  themselves  upon  his  consciousness.  He 
saw  himself  at  the  directors'  meeting,  where  they 
had  elected  him  president  of  his  bank  —  his  first 
position  of  the  sort.  He  heard  the  language  of  the 
vote  which  had  been  cast  in  his  honor.   He  re- 

148 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

membered  the  carved  cupids  on  the  private  din- 
ing-room in  the  hotel  where  he  had  lunched  with 
his  most  intimate  magnate  that  day.  He  could 
recall  the  menu  down  which  he  went  as  far  as 
broiled  live  lobster,  and  that  his  friend,  who  was 
an  officer  in  the  humane  societies,  commented 
on  it. 

He  saw  himself  in  his  office  benignantly  head- 
ing subscriptions  —  all  the  conservative  and  im- 
portant ones ;  everything  came  to  him  first. 

He  was  at  Washington  leading  a  delegation 
that  represented  the  distinguished  merchants  of 
New  England,  that  carried  to  Congress  a  measure 
upon  which  the  eyes  of  the  country  were  fixed. 
The  Ways  and  Means  Committee  listened  to  him 
with  deference.  The  President,  in  a  private  inter- 
view, talked  half  an  hour  about  their  university, 
and  then  casually  remarked :  "  By  the  way,  I  don't 
anticipate  that  you  will  have  any  difficulty  with 
your  bill  —  so  long  as  you  are  behind  it." 

When  he  came  home,  a  committee  of  students 
were  at  his  house.  They  asked  the  privilege  of 
arranging  a  day  for  the  lecture  which  he  had  pro- 
mised them  on  Mercantile  Honor.  When  he  gave 
the  lecture  the  old  hall  was  packed ;  he  knew  the 
intoxication  of  public  address,  so  seldom  expe- 
rienced by  a  man  of  affairs.  He  was  a  favorite  in 
the  university,  to  which  he  had  been  a  generous 

149 


THOUGH   LIFE   US  DO   PART 

donor,  and  of  which  he  was  in  a  commercial  sense 
the  most  eminent  alumnus. 

As  his  mind  fled  back  it  occurred  to  him  how 
little  criticism  he  had  met  from  his  fellow  men, 
how  little  they  had  hindered,  how  much  they  had 
helped  him.  He  had  been  honored  by  the  honor- 
able. He  had  been  trusted  by  the  trustworthy. 

But  this  was  not  the  most  or  the  worst  of  it. 
He  had  been  loved  —  ah!  how  had  he  been  loved! 
—  by  the  beloved.  There  never  was  such  a  daugh- 
ter. How  could  there  be  ?  Who  else  had  Carolyn's 
thrilling  affectional  sentience?  Her  motherless 
soul  had  opened  before  him  like  a  flower  too  ex- 
quisite to  be  touched.  He  had  breathed  it,  and 
had  broken  it ;  yet  he  knew  that  she  would  forgive 
him  that.  Whoever  derided,  she  would  comfort. 
Whoever  scorned,  she  would  defend.  He  thought 
that  if  he  could  have  fled  with  her  to  some  of 
those  ideal  and  impossible  shores  of  which  dis- 
graced men  dream,  he  might  have  got  some  sort 
of  foothold  and  climbed  a  little  way  up  the  moral 
precipice  down  which  he  had  dropped. 

But  Carolyn  had  her  husband ;  and  her  child. 

By  the  great  natural  road  that  broadens  between 
father  and  daughter  she  had  escaped  him.  The 
desolate  world  had  no  occupant  for  the  dishonored 
man. 

Upon  the  inevitable  outcome  of  his  situation 
150 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

—  if  he  lived  —  he   did   not,  for   he  would   not, 
dwell.  He  persuaded  himself  that  this  would  be 
worse  for  her  than  the  other  way.  He  had  become 
an  adept  in  self-persuasion.  Long  ago,  more  years 
than  he  could  recall  now,  he  had  recorded  upon 
the  chart  of  his  moral  disease  the  wavering  tem- 
perature line  on  the  other  side  of  which  a  man 
loses  the  power  of   being  honest  with  himself. 
Now,  in  the  hour  of  his  last  moral  conflict,  delu- 
sion after  delusion  chased  him.  He  found  it  as 
difficult  to  feel  truly  as  he  did  to  think  clearly. 
As  his  mind  darkened  and  his  will  weakened,  one 
thing  alone  remained  distinct  to  him  —  his  daugh- 
ter's  face.    It  assumed   the   movement    of   slow 
and  solemn  regression:  at  first  he  saw  it  just  as 
she  was,  sitting  in  his  wind  chair  on  the  piazza 
towards  the  sea  —  the  new  motherhood  of  her,  all 
Madonna,  with  the  baby  on  her  lap.   Then   she 
slipped  back  a  little,  and  he  saw  the  bride  of  her, 
the  rapture  —  she  was  all  new  wife.  What  could 
be  more  "  mystic,  wonderful "  ?   Nothing  but  the 
unwon  girl.  .  .  .  How  exquisite! 

She  came  and  sat  upon  the  arm  of  his  chair,  in 
her  white  dress,  with  her  velvet  hands,  her  two 
long  braids  of  bright  hair.  She  laid  her  cheek  to 
his :  "  Blue  to-night,  Papa  ?  "  she  said.  "  What  ails 
you,  dear  ?  Don't  you  want  a  kiss  ?  " 

While  he  was  arguing  with  his  anguish,  and 
151 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

wondering  what  reply  he  could  make  to  her,  — 
not  daring  to  touch  her,  being  unworthy,  —  be- 
hold, he  held  in  his  arms  a  child.  She  was  quite  a 
little  girl.  She  was  crying,  and  he  comforted  her. 
Then  she  laughed,  and  he  kissed  her  —  yes,  he  was 
fit  to  kiss  her  then.  She  put  up  a  little  mouth,  like 
an  apple  blossom,  and  began  to  cuddle  to  him, 
and  to  call  him  "  Dee  Papa !  My  dee  Papa !  " 
"  Carolyn  !  "  he  cried.  "  Carolyn  I " 

It  was  mid-afternoon  when  Sterling  Hart  came 
into  the  house  and  asked  once  more  for  Dr.  Dane, 
who  had  been  out  all  day.  Carolyn  told  him  so. 
She  was  crossing  the  hall,  and  he  could  not  escape 
her:  nor  the  hard  duty  which  it  seemed  must  fall 
on  him,  as  everything  else  (concerning  her)  that 
was  not  easy  had  fallen.  He  had  always  been  the 
one  to  stand  between  her  and  the  cruel  edges  of 
life.  He  had  hoped  that  her  husband  might  have 
spared  him  this. 

"  Chanceford  is  out  on  some  consultation  or 
long  case,"  said  Mrs.  Dane.  "  He  has  one  of  his 
busy  days.  I  expect  him  home  about —  Cousin 
Sterling!"  she  put  her  hand  to  her  heart  slowly. 
"  Something  has  happened.  ...  It  is  my  father," 
she  added.  She  sank  back  and  sat  down  on  the 
stairs.  "  Was  it  his  heart  ?  "  she  asked  very  quietly. 

"Yes,  thank  God!"  said  Sterling  Hart.  His 
152 


THOUGH   LIFE  US   DO   PART 

passionate  gratitude  that  he  could  say  this  and 
tell  the  truth  —  for  he  himself,  climbing  Balsam 
Mountain  with  Solomon,  had  found  the  pistol  ly- 
ing on  the  moss  beside  the  unwounded  dead  — 
exalted  him  so  that  he  was  hardly  conscious  of  the 
effect  of  his  words  and  manner  upon  her.  "  He 
did  not  suffer  —  that  is,  it  must  have  been  a  matter 
of  a  moment  —  what  is  called  an  instant  death." 

"  You  are  not  telling  me  the  whole."  Cara  lifted 
her  white  face;  it  was  strong  with  the  courage 
before  calamity  which  surprises  us  in  the  tender- 
est  women.  "  You  are  keeping  something  back." 

He  kept  it  back  as  long  as  he  could ;  for  she 
did  not  urge  him  till  he  chose.  The  rest  of  the 
tragic  story  came  to  her  knowledge  soon  enough. 
But  this  one  thing  the  preacher  restrained  from 
her  till  it  was  not  possible  to  do  so  any  longer. 
Even  then  he  had  to  be  the  one  to  tell  her.  Her 
husband  said  he  could  not  do  it.  Dane  hated  the 
unpleasant,  and  avoided  it  when  he  might. 

In  the  ruin  of  her  father's  honor  Carolyn's  pri- 
vate fortune  —  with  his  own,  with  others  not  his 
own  —  had  gone  the  way  of  the  speculator  who 
plunges  that  he  may  swim,  and  at  the  moment 
when  he  least  anticipates  it,  sinks  beyond  rescue. 
The  weight  of  the  transparent  and  pliable  seas, 
heavier  than  the  opaque  and  immovable  moun- 
tains, holds  him  down. 


CHAPTER  X 

The  blind  flapped  in  the  storm,  and  Mrs.  Dane 
left  her  seat  by  the  window  and  went  out  on  the 
piazza.  The  catch  proved  to  be  broken,  and  she 
hunted  up  nails,  hammer,  and  hatchet  and  tried  to 
effect  some  amateur  repairs.  She  did  this  with  the 
patience  of  one  who  had  been  accustomed  to  all 
sorts  and  conditions  of  household  drudgery  and 
to  the  expedients  of  poverty  for  a  much  longer 
time  than,  in  fact,  she  had  known  anything  about 
them.  It  was  but  a  year  since  the  death  of  her 
father,  whose  beautiful  homestead,  claimed  by 
wronged  and  restless  creditors,  had  been  promptly 
bought  in  by  his  kinsman,  Sterling  Hart,  and  ea- 
gerly offered  to  the  homeless  daughter. 

"  Honor  me  by  occupying  it,  Cousin  Carolyn," 
he  had  urged.  "  Please  me,  and  stay." 

But  Carolyn  had  not  stayed.  She  and  her  hus- 
band were  agreed,  at  least,  on  that.  The  preacher 
was  not  a  rich  man,  and  no  rent  which  Dr.  Dane's 
uncertain  income  would  permit  could  decently 
be  offered  for  one  of  the  great  houses  of  the 
East  Shore.  After  one  hard  winter  in  the  read- 
justed conditions  of  her  old  home — stripped  of 

154 


THOUGH   LIFE  US   DO   PART 

its  servants,  and  terrified  by  its  fuel  bills  —  Mrs. 
Dane  and  her  husband  and  child  had  moved 
across  the  road  into  the  little  white  house  known 
as  the  nasturtium  cottage.  There,  Cara  had  re- 
sumed the  struggles  of  a  life  whose  outward  de- 
privations had  gradually  come  to  her  to  seem  the 
least  and  lightest  of  her  perplexities. 

Once,  in  the  blush  of  her  betrothal,  she  had  said 
to  Chanceford  Dane,  "  I  could  starve."  This,  in 
fact,  she  would  have  been  capable  of  doing.  She 
would  have  died  for  him  without  a  groan  ;  suffered 
for  him  without  an  outcry.  She  had  loved  him  so 
much  that  neither  dying  nor  suffering  counted 
very  much  to  her.  She  had  believed  him  worth 
anything  that  he  might  cost  her  in  the  essence 
and  value  of  a  woman's  life.  There  were  no  pangs 
of  body  or  spirit  which  for  his  sake  she  would 
have  refused.  Neither  variety  nor  monotony  of 
endurance  could  have  vanquished  her  so  long  as 
she  endured  for  him.  Cara  possessed  in  a  degree 
unknown  to  most  women  the  love  genius.  She 
had,  like  other  endowed  souls,  to  pay  the  price  of 
her  gift. 

This,  in  a  measure,  she  was  beginning  to  esti- 
mate, but  with  the  merciful  vagueness  which  marks 
the  first  stage  of  a  woman's  disillusion.  In  a  way 
her  exquisite  sensitiveness  might  be  said  to  have 
been  her  protection  as  well  as  her  betrayal.  It 

i5S 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

intervened  between  her  lot  and  her  consciousness 
for  a  longer  time  than  it  could  have  done  had  she 
been  a  ruder  or  a  colder  woman.  It  delayed  her 
inexorable  fate,  because  it  delayed  her  acknow- 
ledgment of  it  to  herself.  She  found  it  incredible 
to  suppose  —  therefore  impossible  to  admit — that 
her  idol  had  neither  deserved  nor  valued  the  sacri- 
fice of  her  sweet  nature  to  her  ideal  of  himself ; 
or,  indeed,  to  her  ideal  of  his  affection  for  her. 

She  had  not  offered  him  a  niche,  but  an  altar. 
To  suggest  to  herself  that  she  had  misdeified  the 
man  she  loved  was  to  overthrow  the  religion  of 
the  system  of  things.  She  approached  the  know- 
ledge of  the  truth  with  the  slowness  which  usually 
precedes  an  abrupt  and  startling  revelation. 

Dane  had  met  the  loss  of  their  property  with 
the  irritability  of  a  pleasure-loving  man  whose 
early  experience  of  hardship  had  acquainted  him 
with  the  nature  and  meaning  of  poverty.  His  brief 
draught  of  luxury  had  not  made  it  easier,  but 
harder,  for  him  to  reassume  the  petty  economies 
of  a  narrow  income.  Of  the  two,  Carolyn,  who  had 
never  known  an  ungratified  wish,  bore  their  fallen 
fortunes  with  more  cheerfulness  and  far  more 
poise.  Dane  had  learned  too  well  the  fatal  art  of 
spending  freely.  His  struggling  practice  did  not 
meet  his  needs.  He  ran  up  bills  which  he  could 
not  pay,  and  swore  because  he  could  not.  The 

156 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

first  time  that  he  swore  at  her,  his  wife  received 
the  outburst  with  the  dumb  astonishment  of  a 
doe  who  has  seen  its  first  hunter  and  met  its  first 
wound.  She  accepted  her  husband's  apology  in 
trembling  silence,  but  whether  she  remembered 
or  forgot  the  shock  of  that  shot,  he  never  knew. 
The  circumstance  eluded  her  expression  as  some- 
thing too  coarse  for  it.  She  puzzled  Dane.  Her 
reserve  annoyed  him.  The  very  exquisiteness  of 
her,  which  had  charmed  him  at  the  first,  began  to 
irritate  him.  The  rudeness  of  his  early  life  re- 
turned upon  him  now  and  then  like  an  old  dye 
that  one  supposes  washed  out.  He  became  what 
we  call  in  family  phraseology  "  difficult."  It  was 
not  until  the  evening  of  which  we  speak  that  it 
occurred  to  Mrs.  Dane  that  he  could  be  anything 
more. 

She  had  been  watching  for  him  at  the  front 
windows  of  their  living-room ;  patiently,  as  doc- 
tors' wives  do,  and  without  the  anxiety  of  other 
women  for  the  fate  of  delaying  husbands. 

There  was  no  fire  on  the  black  hearth,  —  a 
luxury  not  to  be  thought  of  when  the  little  fur- 
nace was  started,  —  and  she  had  pushed  the  small 
couch,  reserved  for  the  baby's  use,  near  the  regis- 
ter, for  the  night  was  cold.  The  child  was  asleep. 
It  was  a  healthy,  happy  baby,  not  too  sensitive,  as 
the  mother  perceived  with  a  curious  mingling  of 

157 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

regret  and  satisfaction.  Above  the  white  woolen 
afghan  which  covered  the  little  relaxed  figure  the 
child's  moist  hair  shone  on  its  forehead.  Joyce 
had  his  father's  hair  and  eyes.  Where  would  the 
inheritance  stop?  Mrs.  Dane  had  begun  to  won- 
der, not  without  anxiety.  Blessed  is  the  mother 
who  can  say :  "  God  grant  that  my  boy  repeat  his 
father,  soul  and  body !  " 

Carolyn,  in  her  mourning  dress,  sat  by  the 
streaming  window  with  both  hands  pressed  to 
the  sides  of  her  eyes  that  she  might  peer  out  into 
the  street.  While  she  did  so,  the  blind,  rebellious 
to  her  feminine  carpentry,  slammed  again  in  her 
face  and  cracked  the  glass.  She  ran  out  once  more 
upon  the  wet  piazza.  While  she  stood  struggling 
in  the  wind  and  splashed  by  the  rain,  trying  to  take 
the  blind  from  its  hinges,  she  saw  that  her  husband 
was  driving  slowly  up  the  avenue  to  the  stable.  It 
was  a  noisy  storm,  and  she  had  not  heard  wheels 
or  hoofs ;  but  the  horse  (it  was  her  father's)  was 
white,  and  she  perceived  the  dull  gleam  of  him, 
and  that  he  had  unexpectedly  stopped. 

"  Drive  right  on,  Chanceford,"  she  called.  "  It 's 
only  the  blind.  I  can  attend  to  it  myself.  Dinner 
is  all  ready  for  you." 

Dane  made  no  reply,  and  the  horse  whinnied 
anxiously. 

"  Clyde  ?  "  she  called.  "  Clyde?  Where  art  you?* 
15? 


THOUGH  LIFE   US  DO   PART 

But  the  dog  was  not  there.  Slightly  startled, 
Carolyn  ran  out  into  the  storm,  and  down  the 
terrace,  against  which  the  horse  had  driven  one 
wheel  of  the  buggy.  This,  obstructed  by  a  bush, 
had  stuck  in  the  soaked  grass.  The  buggy,  which 
a  less  conscientious  horse  would  have  overturned, 
was  empty. 

Mrs.  Dane  clambered  over  the  wheel  and  drove 
on  to  the  stable.  Her  first  impulse  to  drive  in 
search  of  her  husband  had  given  place  to  a  cold 
and  sickening  prudence.  Without  exactly  knowing 
why,  she  thought  she  had  better  not  assume  that 
there  had  been  an  accident  —  not  yet ;  not  too 
soon. 

She  ran  into  the  house  for  her  raincoat,  came 
out  again,  went  a  little  way  down  the  sidewalk,  and 
scrutinized  the  storm-beaten  road.  It  was  quite  de- 
serted. She  walked  on  hurriedly,  going  faster  and 
further  than  she  knew,  until  she  came  to  the  choco- 
late eclair  house,  where  Nannie  was  lighting  the 
gas  and  drawing  the  shades.  At  this  point  Mrs. 
Dane  turned  about  and  came  back.  She  now  re- 
membered that  Solomon  Hops  had  one  of  his  per- 
sonally conducted  rheumatic  attacks.  These  were 
more  strenuous  than  dangerous,  and  she  felt  sure 
that  the  doctor  had  made  this  call  the  last  on  his 
rounds  on  his  way  home.  Whatever  had  happened, 
horse  and  driver  had  separated  somewhere  be- 

159 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 


tween  the  two  houses.  Now,  she  reasoned  (more 
calmly  than  most  young  wives  would),  the  chances 
were  that  her  husband  would  be  at  home  before 
her.  Her  steps  quickened  to  a  run.  When  she 
came  opposite  the  Sterling  place,  her  old  home, 
her  dog  leaped  out  upon  her ;  whining  and  bark- 
ing, he  urged  her  across  the  street.  Against  one 
of  the  great  stone  pillars  which  guarded  the  en- 
trance to  the  avenue,  the  figure  of  a  man  leaned 
heavily;  his  crushed  felt  hat  slouched  over  his  face, 
and  his  head  fell  forward  upon  his  breast.  Clyde 
put  his  fore  paws  dutifully,  rather  than  affection- 
ately, about  the  man's  waist,  and  seemed  to  make 
something  like  an  effort  to  support  him,  until  Mrs. 
Dane  had  reached  the  spot. 

"  Oh,  are  you  hurt  ?  "  she  cried.  Her  wet  hand 
slid  into  her  husband's.   He  pushed  it  off. 

"Where  is  that  horse?"  he  snarled.  "He  dragged 
his  weight  and  came  home  without  me.  My  foot 
caught  in  the  reins  somehow,  and  I  had  a  nasty 
tumble.  Solomon  will  talk  about  his  symptoms  all 
night.  Only  way  I  can  stop  him  is  to  put  a  ther- 
mometer in  his  mouth.  What  are  you  here  for, 
anyhow  ?  Pity  there  was  n't  an  accident.  It  would 
have  given  you  something  to  fuss  about." 

Carolyn  made  no  answer.  She  helped  him  up  the 
steps  and  into  the  cottage  hall,  where  he  stood  with 
sodden  and  evading  eyes.  She  took  off  his  wet  coat 

1 60 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

and  led  him  into  his  office.  Neither  spoke,  and  he 
sank  down  heavily  into  the  office  chair. 

"  I  will  bring  you  a  cup  of  coffee,"  she  said,  strug- 
gling for  composure  ;  but  her  voice  shook.  It  took 
a  little  time  to  make  the  coffee,  and  the  Irish  maid 
of  all  work  fretted  about  it  all  the  while.  When 
Mrs.  Dane  came  back  to  the  office  she  found  the 
doctor  stretched  on  the  lounge,  past  speech  or 
motion,  as  unconscious  of  her  presence  as  he  was 
of  his  disgrace.  In  all  her  sheltered  life  Carolyn 
had  never  been  so  near  a  drunken  man.  She  bent 
over  him  and  touched  his  reddened  cheek  with  her 
light,  white  fingers. 

"  Dear,"  she  said,  "  are  you  sick  ?  Oh,  what  can 
I  do  for  you  ?  Chanceford !  Chanceford  !  " 

At  this  moment  the  child  across  the  hall  waked 
and  began  to  laugh,  and  then  to  call :  "  Mum  — 
mumma  ?  Pup  —  puppa  ?  Puppa  ?  " 

Carolyn  stood  for  a  moment  irresolute,  and  then 
she  turned  away  and  shut  the  office  door.  She 
took  the  baby,  and  sat  down  with  him  beside  the 
cheerless  register,  and  stared  at  the  window  where 
the  storm  was  raging.  Beyond  the  anger  of  the  rain 
and  wind  she  could  hear  the  sea  upon  the  cliff  — 
the  old  familiar,  mighty  roar,  mastering  every  lesser 
sound,  as  the  great  master  the  little  sorrows  of  life. 
For  one  wild  moment  it  seemed  to  her  that  if  she 
wrapped  the  baby  up  quite  well,  and  ran  out  with 

161 


THOUGH   LIFE  US   DO    PART 

him,  and  kissed  him  once  or  twice,  and  slipped  off 
into  the  chasm  with  him  quietly,  it  would  be  the 
kindest  deed  that  she  could  do,  or  dream  of  doing, 
by  his  father's  son.  But  she  was  a  sane  woman,  and 
she  sat  still  by  the  register,  and  laid  her  cheek  upon 
the  baby's  curls.  One  great,  dry  sob  tore  up  from 
some  unexplored  capacity  of  anguish  within  her, 
but  she  did  not  cry.  Clyde  came  up  and  kissed 
her,  but  she  did  not  notice  Clyde.  The  child 
bubbled  on:  "Mum  —  mumma?  Pup — puppa? 
Puppa?" 

Dane's  was  one  of  the  natures  which  harden 
when  they  should  melt,  perhaps  thaw  when  they 
should  solidify.  The  consciousness  of  error  did 
not  make  him  tender.  The  fact  that  he  had  de- 
based himself  in  the  presence  of  his  wife  irritated 
him.  His  Southern  pride  flared  in  him,  and  he 
omitted  to  express  to  her  his  more  or  less  genu- 
ine regret  for  what  had  occurred.  He  found  it 
hard  to  forgive  her  for  having  been  a  witness  of  his 
weakness.  In  itself  considered,  he  would  have  read- 
ily told  her  that  he  had  taken  a  cup  of  afternoon 
tea  with  Mrs.  Marriot  —  if  he  had  stopped  with 
the  tea.  He  felt  unwilling  to  complicate  one  act- 
ual fault  with  the  appearance  of  another  in  Cara's 
mind.  He  took  the  refuge  of  the  weak  nature,  or 
of  the  weak  element  in  a  stronger  nature,  and  as- 

162 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 


sumed  a  wounded  air.  His  injured  silence  distanced 
his  wife  more  utterly  than  any  speech  or  language 
could  have  done  —  as  he  had  known  that  it  would. 
Cara,  who  had  rehearsed  over  and  again  with  her- 
self the  difficult  scene  in  which  she  should  try  — 
how  carefully  !  how  tenderly !  —  to  say  the  right 
thing,  the  gentle  thing,  the  wifely  one,  that  which 
would  forgive  without  humiliating,  and  stimulate 
without  reproaching,  found  herself  thrown  back 
upon  the  fact  that  there  was  to  be  no  scene  at  all. 
It  was  scarcely  a  matter  of  weeks  before  she  per- 
ceived that  this  grave  episode  in  their  mutual  life 
was  not  to  be  material  of  discussion  between 
them.  The  subject  dropped  like  a  blazing  coal, 
and  scorched  the  ground  on  which  they  stood. 
The  smoke  of  its  burning  came  up  and  enveloped 
her  in  a  smothering  sensation  —  half  astonish- 
ment and  half  a  stifling  doubt  of  her  own  judg- 
ment. It  seemed  to  her  that  she  ought  to  have 
been  able  to  find  some  way  of  helping  Chanceford  ; 
it  did  not  occur  to  her  to  rebuke  him.  But  she 
found  no  way.  He  held  her  at  the  arm's  length  of 
his  temperament.  His  injured  manner  gradually 
gave  way  to  his  light  one  —  debonair,  and  smiling, 
as  if  nothing  of  consequence  had  happened. 
The  husband  and  wife  began  to  tread  the  diverg- 
ing paths  between  which  an  important  moral 
question  has  protruded.  Carolyn  had  reached  the 

163 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

point  in  a  wife's  experience  where,  whatever  she 
says,  or  omits  to  say,  upon  a  sore  subject,  she  is 
conscious  of  giving  offense.  She  longed  inex- 
pressibly for  some  sort  of  supporting  counsel,  but 
the  dignity  of  her  soul  refused  to  seek  it  of  any 
other  mind  or  heart.  She  found  herself  locked 
back  upon  herself,  passionately  praying  for  guid- 
ance which  only  Heaven  could  give,  and  in  which 
Heaven  seemed  to  take  no  visible  interest  at  all. 
She  sought  the  greatest,  the  supremely  precious 
good  of  human  experience  —  the  direction  of 
duty. 

It  took  her  some  time  to  understand  that  this  is 
not  to  be  had  for  the  wishing;  if  it  replies  to  that 
uplifted  concentration  of  the  spirit  which  we  call 
prayer,  who  but  the  devout  shall  know  ? 

Carolyn  soon  gave  up  trying  to  learn  what  she 
ought  to  do  for  Chanceford,  and  simply  did  the 
things  she  knew  she  could  do.  Sometimes  he 
seemed  to  feel  sorry  for  her.  Sometimes  he  was 
kind.  At  first  he  did  not  repeat  his  fault.  But  by 
midwinter  he  was  drinking  heavily.  His  practice 
began  to  suffer,  and  his  temper  with  it. 

It  has  been  said  by  those  who  are  experts  in  the 
subject,  that  the  wife  of  a  drinking  man  always 
carries  in  her  countenance  the  evidence  of  her 
lot.  Cara's  beautiful  face  assumed  pathetic  meta- 
morphoses, passing  from  stage  to  stage  of  the  fate 

164 


THOUGH   LIFE   US  DO   PART 

which  drives  the  sensitiveness  in  and  draws  the 
hardness  out.  So  gentle  was  her  fibre,  so  ineffable 
the  tenderness  of  her  instincts,  that  she  could  not 
harden ;  she  could  only  sadden.  She  developed  a 
patient  philosophy. 

"  The  world  is  full  of  women,"  she  thought. 
"  They  all  endure  the  lives  which  men  inflict. 
Many  of  them  must  suffer  as  much  as  I  do; 
some  of  them  must  suffer  more.  I  suppose  I  can 
bear  my  share." 

Once  or  twice  she  pleaded  with  her  husband. 
She  never  reproached  him.  But  neither  her  ex- 
pression nor  her  reserve  appeared  to  touch  him. 
She  had  reached  the  world-old  crisis  where  a  wo- 
man to  whom  a  man  has  given  his  wildest  wor- 
ship, his  most  passionate  allegiance,  learns  that 
her  influence  upon  him  has  retreated  from  the 
foreground  of  his  consciousness. 

This  shock  to  the  heart  is  as  common  as  the 
marriage  bond ;  women  are  apt  to  forget  that  it 
means  a  mutual  misery  in  which  a  man  must 
share  in  a  man's  way.  She,  by  reason  of  her  sex, 
will  suffer  more  ;  but  he,  if  only  because  he  suffers 
less,  will  be  the  more  perplexed. 

Dane  had  passed  the  point  of  perplexity,  and 
arrived  by  rapid  bounds  at  that  of  conscious  er- 
ror. He  drank  all  winter,  and  the  spring  found 
him  a  tempted,  yielding,  and  a  half-ruined  man. 

165 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

Mrs.  Douce  Marriot  always  arrived  in  Balsam 
Groves  upon  the  first  of  May;  in  this  particular 
she  was  no  better  nor  worse  than  other  taxpay- 
ers. For  weeks  her  elaborate  place  had  been  in 
the  hands  of  its  gardeners  and  spring  cleaners, 
and  upon  the  afternoon  of  the  thirtieth  of  April 
she  slid  from  her  town  house  to  her  shore  house 
as  easily  as  she  put  her  head  under  the  imported 
carriage  dress  which  her  maid  held  over  her  per- 
fectly adjusted  coiffure.  In  fact,  Mrs.  Marriot 
drove  out  from  the  city,  —  the  day  was  so  gentle, 
and  the  horses  must  be  got  over  the  road,  —  and 
her  husband,  making  one  of  his  rare  public  ap- 
pearances in  her  society,  sat  and  smoked  the  ride 
out  beside  her.  He  was  a  heavy,  silent  man,  ca- 
pable of  keeping  his  own  counsel,  and  that  of  his 
wife,  for  whom,  in  a  sense,  he  cherished  an  attach- 
ment ;  he  made  it  a  point  not  to  believe  the  things 
he  heard  about  her,  and  it  was  certain  that  he  had 
never  heard  the  most  objectionable.  Her  manner 
towards  him  was  perfect;  she  entertained,  if  she  had 
ceased  to  charm  him  ;  they  passed  a  pleasant  even- 
ing together  in  the  great  blue  room  of  their  sum- 
mer home,  and  the  next  day  he  kissed  her  good-by 
and  sailed  for  somewhere,  to  return  at  midsum- 
mer. He  would  cable  frequently ;  he  found  it  "  so 
much  cheaper  than  writing." 

"  Douce,"  he  hesitated,  with  his  foot  on  the  step 
166 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

of  the  trap,  when  she  drove  to  the  station,  "  if  I 
were  you,  I  'd  go  slow  with  that  fellow  —  you  know 
—  old  Sterling's  daughter  married  him.  He  is  n't 
in  it,  exactly ;  he  does  n't  trot  in  your  harness ;  he 
might  take  you  too  seriously  —  men  who  have 
married  above  their  station  are  dull  about  those 
things,  and  the  wife  —  she  is  — "  He  broke  off, 
biting  his  cigar.  "  You  '11  pardon  me,  I  'm  sure, 
Douce  ? " 

"  Why,  of  course,  Harry,"  replied  Mrs.  Marriot, 
amiably.  "  And  thank  you,  besides.  You  know 
I  'm  always  glad  of  your  advice." 

"  Take  it  or  leave  it !  "  called  the  husband,  laugh- 
ing, as  he  swung  aboard  the  train.  "  Only  don't  say 
I  did  n't  give  it." 

Mrs.  Marriot  kissed  her  gloved  hand  to  him 
through  her  dotted  lace  veil,  and  sat  soberly 
watching  the  train  until  it  had  become  a  speck 
upon  the  track.  A  certain  sentimentality  overtook 
her,  and  she  put  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes.  It 
occurred  to  her  that  she  was  very  fond  of  Harry. 
She  drove  home  slowly,  and,  feeling  the  need  of 
diversion  from  the  circumstance  that  her  husband 
had  gone  abroad  without  her,  sat  down  and  wrote 
several  notes.  One  of  these  went  to  a  college  boy, 
inviting  him  to  dine ;  one  to  an  artist,  with  whom 
she  had  appointments  for  a  portrait ;  a  third  to  a 
politician,  with  whom  she  had  decided  not  to  take 

167 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 


an  automobile  ride ;  a  fourth  acquainted  the  vil- 
lage doctor  with  the  fact  of  her  return  to  Balsam, 
and  besought  his  attention  to  her  "picturesque 
neuralgia,"  which,  it  seemed,  no  physician  in  town 
had  shown  any  capacity  whatever  for  compre- 
hending or  treating. 

It  was  not  more  than  a  few  days  after  Mrs.  Mar- 
riot  had  taken  up  her  legal  residence  in  Balsam 
Groves  that  Mrs.  Dane  received  a  peremptory 
summons  for  the  doctor  from  the  case  of  Solo- 
mon Hops,  who,  it  appeared,  had  undergone  what 
Nannie,  sobbing  at  the  telephone,  described  as 
"  some  sort  of  a  fit  or  stroke." 

The  doctor's  wife  (as  doctors'  wives  do  in  serious 
cases)  made  eager  and  sympathetic  efforts  to  notify 
her  husband,  trying  to  reach  him  by  wire  wher- 
ever she  might  have  a  chance  of  overtaking  him ; 
in  fact,  searching  the  neighborhood,  before  she 
remembered  having  heard  him  say  that  Mrs.  Mar- 
riot  had  returned,  and  her  neuralgia  with  her.  But 
Mrs.  Marriot's  telephone,  it  seemed,  was  not  yet 
connected  for  the  season,  and  Mrs.  Dane  did  the 
only  other  thing  that  suggested  itself.  She  tossed 
on  her  long  coat,  called  the  little  Irish  maid  to  the 
baby,  and  herself  ran  over  to  give  the  summons 
of  Solomon's  emergency. 

It  was  almost  twilight,  but  not  quite,  and  the 
sea,  as  she  hurried  up  the  avenue,  called  to  her 

168 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

with  the  change  of  tone  which  she  had  always  fan- 
cied it  assumed  at  the  coming  on  of  night  —  as  if 
it  dropped  from  the  major  to  the  minor  key.  The 
doctor's  buggy  stood  just  outside  the  stables ;  a 
glance  told  her  that.  Her  mind  was  quite  occupied 
with  Nannie  and  Solomon,  and  she  rang  Mrs. 
Marriot's  bell  abstractedly. 

"  Call  the  doctor,"  she  began.  "  There  is  a  very 
sick  patient." 

Yes,  madam.  The  doctor  was  in  the  library  with 
Mrs.  Marriot.  Would  Mrs.  Dane  please  step  in  ? 
The  butler  waved  a  stately  hand  towards  the  blue 
room. 

"  I  will  turn  on  the  light,"  he  suggested. 

"  Oh,  don't  wait  for  that !  Don't  wait  for  any- 
thing ! "  cried  Mrs.  Dane.  "  It  is  a  very  sick  pa- 
tient. Only  say  that  to  the  doctor,  and  mention 
that  I  am  here." 

She  stepped  into  the  blue  room  hurriedly,  and 
sat  down  on  the  first  chair  she  saw.  She  had  a 
light  step,  and  had,  in  fact,  run  over  in  her  slippers. 
The  Wilton  carpet  received  her  foot  without  a 
sound.  Within  the  large,  high,  darkly  decorated 
room  the  twilight  had  settled  heavily.  She  accus- 
tomed her  eyes  to  the  obstruction  by  degrees,  and 
it  was  —  how  long?  The  respite  of  a  moment?  — 
before  she  became  aware  of  the  presence  of  others 
in  the  room.  Two  figures,  blurred  against  a  shad- 

169 


THOUGH    LIFE   US   DO   PART 


owy  sofa,  sat  unconscious  of  her.  She  looked,  and 
got  to  her  feet.  Her  first  impulse  was  to  flee ;  but 
her  second  thought  and  second  observation  told 
her  that  it  was  too  late,  for  the  returning  steps  of 
the  butler,  padded  in  his  felt  slippers,  sounded 
across  the  marble  of  the  hall. 

The  doctor  and  the  patient  had  now  advanced 
to  meet  the  wife.  In  her  long  coat  Carolyn  looked 
taller  than  she  was;  she  stood  quite  still,  and 
silent. 

The  servant  saved  the  situation,  as  the  servant 
so  often  does.  He  slid  from  bulb  to  bulb,  and  the 
electricity  shot  all  over  the  great  room.  The  blue 
velvet  papering  on  the  high  walls  scowled  at  the 
lio-ht;  a  satin  chair  somewhere  received  it  more 
cordially,  and  glittered  with  it.  Mrs.  Dane  fixed 
her  eyes  upon  the  satin  chair.  She  did  not  glance 
at  her  husband.  She  found  herself  talking  about 
Solomon  Hops ;  telling  how  ill  he  was,  and  what 
Nannie  said ;  and  then  she  turned.  In  the  door- 
way she  looked  back. 

Across  the  long,  elaborate  room  she  saw  the 
two  standing  and  staring.  Mrs.  Marriot's  expe- 
rienced face  had  crimsoned,  but  Dane  was  blazing 
white.  He  held  his  head  haughtily.  He  seemed  to 
fling  at  his  wife  the  spirit  of  some  challenge  or 
some  defense. 

"  It  is  not   personally  conducted  rheumatism 
170 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

this  time,"  said  Carolyn,  quite  as  if  nothing  had 
happened.  "  Solomon  is  very  ill.  I  tried  every- 
where to  find  you.  The  telephone  was  not  con- 
nected." 

As  if  she  were  the  one  of  those  three  who 
should  explain,  who  should  apologize,  she  found 
herself  uttering  these  futile  words.  But  she  did 
not  utter  any  more.  When  Dane  came  out  to  the 
buggy  his  wife  was  not  to  be  seen. 

"  This  is  most  unfortunate  !  "  sighed  Mrs.  Mar- 
riot,  swaying  on  the  piazza  in  her  pale  blue  gown; 
the  dress  was  spangled  here  and  there,  and  glit- 
tered before  Dane  dizzily.  He  smote  her  with  one 
fierce  frown.  At  that  moment  he  could  have  struck 
Douce  Marriot  to  the  ground.  He  was  seized  with 
moral  nausea;  of  her,  of  himself,  of  the  chance 
which  had  brought  about  this  fatality.  He  leaped 
over  the  wheel,  and  lashed  the  white  horse  down 
the  avenue. 

It  was  late  when  Dane  came  home.  He  ob- 
served that  Cara  did  not  come  to  meet  him  at  the 
door,  as  she  was  in  the  habit  of  doing,  but  this  he 
had  expected.  He  took  off  his  coat  slowly,  and 
went  into  his  office  with  hesitating  feet.  The  room 
was  empty,  and  the  house  was  still.  After  some 
delay  he  crossed  the  hall  with  evident  reluctance, 
and  wavered  on  the  threshold  of  the  living-room 

171 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

where  his  wife  was  sitting,  with  their  sleeping 
child. 

She  rose  as  he  entered,  and  both  stood  regard- 
ing each  other  with  the  consciousness  that  the 
irremediable  had  happened.  Dane  had  a  defiant 
look.  But  Cara's  face  pleaded  even  then  —  with 
him,  with  fate,  with  the  shock  under  which  every 
nerve  of  her  soul  and  body  shook.  She  was  gray 
white,  and  ghastly  —  but  gentle;  how  gentle,  how 
womanlike,  how  piteous  to  see,  he  could  not  re- 
fuse to  acknowledge  to  himself. 

"  Well  ?  "  he  began,  in  a  tone  which  his  wife  had 
long  since  learned  to  recognize  as  one  with  which 
it  was  impossible  for  her  to  deal. 

"  Have  you  anything  to  say  ?  "  Carolyn  uttered 
the  words  with  a  quietness  which  astonished  her- 
self more  than  it  did  him. 

Dane  tossed  back  his  handsome  head.  "  No. 
Not  to  any  question  put  in  that  way.  No.  I  don't 
say  I  might  not  have ;  but  under  the  circumstances 
—  no.  I  am  evidently  prejudged.  What  would  be 
the  use  ? " 

"  Very  well,"  said  Cara.  She  tottered,  and  sank 
back  into  her  chair  beside  the  child.  "I  must  — 
think.  I  do  not  know  —  what  —  to  do."  She  passed 
her  hand  confusedly  over  her  eyes. 

"  If  a  man's  wife  can't  trust  him,  —  if  she  must 
come  spying  upon  him,  —  that 's  reason  enough. 

172 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

I  decline  to  offer  any  excuses  —  at  present.  It 
depends  upon  circumstances  when  or  whether  I 
explain  the  situation  upon  which  you  so  unwar- 
rantably intruded.  I  say,  a  man's  wife  should 
trust  him  —  " 

"  Against  the  evidence  of  her  own  senses  ? " 
asked  Carolyn.  A  slow,  contemptuous  curve  turned 
her  delicate  lip.  She  could  not  help  it,  and  she  did 
not  know  it. 

"  Against  any  evidence !  "  thundered  Dane. 
"  Until  she  has  heard  what  he  has  to  say." 

"  If  there  were  anything  to  be  said  —  "  returned 
Cara,  drearily. 

"  That  is  for  me  to  judge,"  replied  Dane.  This 
preposterous  answer  took  away  her  breath,  and 
she  sat  panting  and  mute  before  him. 

On  his  tempestuous  face  shame  and  sorrow 
warred  with  something  like  compassion  for  her, 
but  he  gave  no  expression  to  either.  He  turned 
on  his  heel,  and  made  as  if  to  leave  the  room,  but 
lingered. 

"  Can  I  have  anything  to  eat  ? "  he  asked,  as  if 
nothing  had  happened. 

"  Maggie  will  wait  on  you,"  replied  Cara.  Her 
chin  quivered,  but  her  voice  was  quite  firm. 

"  Very  well,"  he  said  in  his  turn.  He  went  out 
to  the  dining-room,  and  rang  for  his  belated  meal. 
Cara  did  not  join  him.  No  further  words  passed 

173 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

between  them,  and  when  he  went  upstairs  her 
door  was  locked. 

As  it  had  been  with  that  other  offense,  Cara 
found  herself  completely  disabled  in  the  moral 
conflict  by  the  offender.  Dane  assumed  his  in- 
jured air;  and  his  wife,  torn  between  her  sweet 
impulse  to  be  more  than  generous  to  him  and  her 
scathing  consciousness  that  there  are  things  which 
a  wife  must  not  overlook  because  that  is  the  easi- 
est way  to  live,  fell  back  upon  a  tentative  and 
terrible  silence.  No  virago's  tongue  could  have 
scourged  Dane  as  this  spiritual  dignity  did.  He 
felt  humiliated  by  the  very  sight  of  her,  —  and 
Dane  never  could  bear  to  be  made  uncomfortable. 
Cara  attended  to  his  wants  politely.  But  upon  the 
frozen  misery  of  her  face  he  dared  not  dwell.  They 
stood  upon  the  opposite  sides  of  a  glacier  whose 
stealthy  current  she  could  not  cross,  and  he  would 
not,  if  indeed  he  could.  Their  daily  life  took  on 
the  hopeless  character  which  marriage  alone,  of 
all  human  relations,  may  acquire. 

Already  they  seemed  to  themselves  to  have  been 
separated  for  a  longer  time  than  they  had  been 
united.  Dane's  frowning  face  darkened  day  by  day, 
and  one  morning  he  hurled  himself  out  of  the 
house  and  aboard  the  first  train  to  the  city.  He 
returned  in  the  late  May  twilight,  and  she  heard 

174 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

his  step  ring  through  the  hall.  He  called  her 
imperiously. 

"Cara?  Cara!  I  wish  to  see  you  —  at  once, 
please." 

She  was  putting  the  baby  to  bed,  but  she  obeyed 
immediately.  Dane  beckoned  her  into  the  office, 
and  shut  the  door. 

"  I  may  as  well  tell  you  what  has  happened," 
he  began. 

"  If  it  is  anything  worse  —  "  she  pleaded.  But 
she  thought :  "  What  could  be  worse  ?  "  Then  her 
heart  fused  within  her,  and  she  cried  out:  — 

"  Chanceford  !  Chanceford  !  We  did  love  each 
other !  I  don't  want  to  make  a  mistake.  I  'm  not 
a  hard  woman.  I  could  forgive  .  .  .  anything  I 
ought  to.  Oh,  I  did  love  you !  I  did  love  you !  If 
you  only  had  one  word  to  say  to  me ! " 

"  I  have  three,"  replied  Dane,  stolidly.  He  put 
both  hands  on  her  shoulders  —  would  he  have  held 
her  off,  or  drawn  her  towards  him  ?  She  could  not 
tell ;  perhaps  he  did  not  know  himself.  He  looked 
straight  into  her  piteous  eyes,  and  with  great  dis- 
tinctness and  deliberation  said:  — 

"  I  have  enlisted." 

Her  face  dropped  against  her  hands  upon  the 
office  table.  The  light  from  above  selected  her  soft, 
brown  hair  and  the  contour  of  her  womanly  head. 


175 


THOUGH   LIFE  US   DO   PART 

Dane  felt  as  if  these  outlines  were  being  etched 
upon  his  brain  with  a  burning  graver. 

11 1  have  enlisted  as  a  private,"  he  said,  "  in  this 
accursed  war." 


CHAPTER  XI 

No  one  who  lived  through  the  American  Civil 
War  could  face  the  spring  of  1898  without  a 
grip  at  the  heart  such  as  the  present  generation 
cannot  understand.  But  between  the  novice  and 
the  expert  in  suffering  there  may  not,  after  all, 
be  much  to  choose  when  we  come  to  that;  and 
the  woman  who  had  never  before  searched  the 
lists  of  "  Killed,  Wounded,  Missing  "  for  a  name 
she  dared  not  see,  had  —  what  advantage  over 
her  who  was  gray  with  the  memory  of  a  fading 
pain  ?  Women,  who  are  the  worst  victims  of  war, 
whichever  way  we  look  at  it,  rapidly  acquire  its 
terrible  lessons;  and  Carolyn  in  six  weeks  came 
to  feel  as  if  she  had  been  widowed  sixty  years 
by  the  blunders  and  brutalities  of  the  governing 
sex. 

From  the  first  she  had  no  delusions  as  to  the 
outcome  for  herself  of  this  latest  and  saddest  of 
our  national  errors. 

When  her  husband  kissed  her  good-by  —  for  he 
did  kiss  her  —  she  thought  quite  clearly:  "  I  shall 
never  see  him  again." 

Few  words  had  passed  between  them.  As  if  he 
177 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

had  not  offended  or  inflicted,  and  as  if  she  had 
not  endured  the  consciousness  of  perplexed  duty 
which  is  so  much  harder  than  simple,  clear-sighted 
misery,  they  set  about  their  hurried  preparations 
for  his  departure  to  the  front.  To  the  last  mo- 
ment she  hoped  that  he  would  do  or  would  say 
something  to  ease  the  intolerable  situation  under 
which  they  parted.  But  Dane  did  nothing  of  the 
kind.  It  occurred  to  her  that  there  was  probably 
nothing  that  he  could  do  or  say  to  blunt  the  edge 
of  the  facts ;  and  yet  she  was  never  quite  sure  of 
that.  Like  thousands  of  women  before  her,  Carolyn 
cried  out  upon  her  fate  to  make  it  possible  for  her 
to  treat  the  man  who  had  wronged  her  as  if  he 
had  not  done  it. 

"There  must  be  explanation!  It  cannot  be  as 
it  seems.  Dear  God !  Only  find  me  some  way  in 
which  I  can  respect  and  trust  him,  and  I  will  ask 
nothing  more  of  life  !  " 

But  these  passionate  prayers  were  of  the  spirit, 
not  of  the  lips.  Husband  and  wife  parted  without 
reference  to  the  cause  of  their  divergence.  At  the 
last  moment  she  cried  out  wildly  —  futile  words  ; 
she  did  not  know  what.  She  only  knew  that  she 
would  have  forgiven  him  anything  to  keep  him 
back.  But  with  war,  as  with  grief  or  death,  who 
shall  intermeddle?  He  seemed  touched  by  her 
heartbreak,  and  his  rigid  mouth  melted. 

178 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 


"It  won't  be  long,"  he  said.  "And  then  — 
things  may  go  better,  girl,  by  and  by." 

He  went  from  her  bareheaded,  and  she  stood  in 
the  window,  with  the  baby  in  her  arms,  and  watched 
him  until  he  reached  the  street.  He  swam  before 
her  burning  eyes  until  they  went  black  blind.  The 
last  thing  that  she  saw  was  the  gray  lock  on  his 
dark  hair.  It  lay  flat  and  stern,  like  a  band  of  steel 
across  his  head. 

Who  forgets  what  a  spring  it  was  ?  No  one  in 
whom  the  abhorrence  of  war  and  the  condemna- 
tion of  it  are  so  vigorous  as  scarcely  to  fall  below 
the  personal  stake  in  personal  pain.  The  fields  of 
New  England  —  were  they  ever  so  fair?  An  ex- 
traordinary light  grew  and  remained  upon  them; 
day  by  day  they  received  this  luminousness  of  an 
order  so  marked,  of  a  gleam  so  gentle,  that  one 
could  not  but  regard  it  with  a  startled  imagina- 
tion. It  was  as  if  the  spirit  of  peace,  terrified  and 
trampled,  had  fled  to  the  sanctuaries  of  Nature  for 
protection.  On  the  hills  a  glory  gathered.  They 
interchanged  signs  solemnly:  "  There  is  no  slaugh- 
ter and  no  heartbreak.  Who  suffers  ?  We  enjoy. 
Who  trembles?  We  stand.  Who  calls  it  War? 
We  call  it  May." 

The  summer  advanced  brilliantly,  —  a  hot  sum- 
mer. The  mother  of  the  lad  who  had  been  drawn 

179 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

to  the  front  by  way  of  the  state  militia  —  a  sum- 
mons he  thought  it  would  be  cowardly  to  evade 
—  recalled  all  that  she  had  read,  and  imagined 
more  than  she  knew  of  the  semitropical  tempera- 
tures. Somebody  blunders,  and  preventable  dis- 
ease begins  to  write  its  fatal  record  in  the  bodies 
and  the  lives  of  men.  Chickamauga  tells  her  shame- 
ful story  to  history,  and  the  spectacle  of  her  rotting 
soldiers  disgraces  the  humiliated  flag.  Blistering 
troops,  broken  by  sickness  and  famine,  hurl  them- 
selves upon  San  Juan  and  mass  on  Santiago. 

We  call  it  May.  We  call  it  June.  We  call  it 
red  July.  Now,  whatever  name  the  meadows  and 
the  mountains  give  it,  we  must  call  it  war. 

To  gratify  a  jingo,  to  please  a  politician,  men 
die  and  women  live ;  the  dearest  is  taken  and  the 
loneliest  is  left ;  the  "  little  war,"  like  the  large 
one,  slaughters  and  smites  at  the  whim  of  the 
fighting  animal,  man.  The  women  of  America 
and  Spain,  —  the  patient,  unconsulted  women, 
who  may  not  govern,  who  cannot  fight,  —  these 
"  give  their  happiness  instead." 

Mrs.  Dane  sat  on  the  narrow  lawn  in  front  of 
her  cottage,  absently  playing  with  her  baby.  The 
low  nasturtiums  (she  had  planted  them  indoors, 
and  early)  were  in  blossom,  massed  upon  the  trel- 
lis of  the  piazza,  and  the  climbers  crept  over  the 

1 80 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO    PART 

white  clapboards.  Cara's  pale,  faintly  sprigged 
muslin  gown  and  the  white  dress  of  the  child  took 
the  foreground;  they  were  delicately  expressed 
by  the  riotous  color. 

Joyce  was  a  happy  child,  laughing  easily  and 
often.  Cara's  baby  was  a  natural  optimist.  He  had 
inherited,  with  his  father's  love  of  pleasure,  his 
father's  love  of  music,  and  sang  many  little  songs 
to  himself;  he  seemed  to  have  more  happiness 
than  he  knew  what  to  do  with,  and  pelted  her  with 
the  songs.  These  had  a  refrain,  his  favorite :  — 

"  Mum  —  ffiiimma  ?  Pup  —  puppa  ?  Fuppa  ?  " 

Cara  listened  to  it  patiently. 

The  surf  was  heavy  that  afternoon,  and  the  sea 
called  in  the  minor  key,  which  (as  we  have  said) 
Cara  fancied  that  it  took  towards  night.  There 
was  a  stiff  Southerly,  and  the  wind  blew  as  winds 
do  when  they  seem  to  have  come  from  a  long  dis- 
tance, and  to  be  articulate  with  messages  and 
meanings  that  mankind  is  not  wise  enough  to 
understand. 

Cara  addressed  the  wind:  "You  come  from 
Cuba,"  she  said. 

Her  lips  were  moving  with  these  fantastic  words 
when  Sterling  Hart  suddenly  stepped  between 
her  and  the  brilliant  but  declining  afternoon.  He 
did  not  speak,  nor  she.  Afterwards  she  recalled 
his  countenance  as  it  had  been  that  of  an  angel 

181 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

—  the  angel  of  compassion  whose  sacred  mission 
it  may  be  to  smite  and  solace,  too.  Her  startled 
eyes  traveled  slowly  from  his  face  to  his  hand ; 
this  held  a  folded  paper,  an  envelope,  and  yellow ; 
his  fingers  were  purple  from  the  knuckles  to  the 
tips  where  he  had  clenched  them  when  he  crushed 
the  envelope. 

"  Let  me  read  the  telegram,"  said  Cara,  dis- 
tinctly. "  I  would  rather  do  it.  Hand  it  to  me." 

He  obeyed  her,  without  a  word,  and  without  a 
word  she  read  :  — 

"  Killed  in  the  charge  at  San  Juan? 

The  yellow  paper  fell  and  fluttered  to  the  grass. 
The  child  saw  it,  and  laughed,  and  snatched  at  it. 
His  little  white  lap  blazed  full  of  nasturtiums,  and 
with  one  of  these,  a  flame-red  one,  he  beat  the 
telegram.  Then  he  gurgled  merrily :  — 

"  Mum  —  mumma  ?  Pup  —  puppa  ?  Pup-pa  ?  " 


CHAPTER   XII 

Dane  had  died  easily,  if  not  instantly — shot  through 
the  head.  After  a  little  delay  he  was  brought  home, 
and  a  grave  in  the  country  churchyard  of  Balsam 
Groves  received  him,  for  Carolyn  had  wished  this 
to  be  so.  Thus  it  befell  that  Dane  did  not  lie  in 
the  burial-place  of  his  wife's  family,  and  for  him- 
self, he  slept,  as  he  had  waked,  disconnected  from 
the  traditions,  an  unrelated  man.  It  might  almost 
be  said  that  he  was  a  non-conformer  to  the  end. 
In  death,  as  in  life,  he  did  not  seem  to  belong  dis- 
tinctly anywhere,  or  he  did  not  find  the  place  where 
he  belonged. 

Sterling  Hart  read  the  burial  service  over  the 
shattered  and  disfigured  dead,  and  himself  gave 
over  to  the  wife  the  last  sign  and  the  only  comfort 
left  to  her,  —  a  handful  of  bright,  black  hair ;  upon 
it  lay  the  gray  lock  which  had  crossed  Dane's 
young  head. 

Sterling  Hart  thought  of  everything.  Nothing 
was  overlooked  or  undone.  All  the  chances  of 
war  which  one  does  not  discuss  with  the  be- 
reaved, Cara's  kinsman  had  considered  thoroughly. 
Against  every  freak  of  fate,  which  it  was  neither 

183 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

in  her  nature  nor  experience  to  imagine,  he  had 
protected  her.  He  sheltered  her  from  every  shock, 
from  every  care ;  he  spared  her  all  the  pangs  he 
could.  If,  when  he  buried  Chanceford  Dane,  he 
believed  in  his  great,  honest  heart  that  she  was  re- 
moved from  the  surest  and  the  most  incurable  pain 
of  all,  Carolyn  will  never  know. 

Against  the  preacher's  mighty  tenderness  she 
leaned  without  knowing  it,  as  unconsciously,  as 
inevitably,  as  upon  the  everlasting  arms  of  the 
sacred  metaphor.  Her  mind  and  heart  were  not 
occupied  with  her  cousin.  She  mourned  her  hus- 
band, and  reared  her  child,  and  began  to  turn  the 
unread  pages  of  widowhood  slowly.  On  Sundays 
her  sad  feet,  like  those  of  other  desolate  women, 
carried  her  to  the  country  churchyard.  She  re- 
mained in  the  nasturtium  cottage  as  the  climbing 
blossoms  clung  to  the  white  walls.  She  had  set  her 
tendrils  there. 

For  a  time  such  methods  of  presenting  her  pe- 
cuniary circumstances  to  her  mind  as  it  was  possi- 
ble for  a  truthful  man  to  pursue  sufficed  her ;  but 
Sterling  Hart  knew  that  this  could  not  last  long. 
He  stood  between  her  and  the  facts,  ingeniously 
averting  the  time  when  her  grief  would  yield  to  her 
practical  sense,  and  her  pride  and  intelligence  unite 
against  him. 

Soon  after  her  husband's  death,  her  maid  Kath- 
184 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

leen  returned  and  attached  herself  to  Mrs.  Dane. 
Whether  Kathleen  had  left  her  waiter,  or  he  her, 
no  one  asked ;  but  that  he  drank  madly  every- 
body knew.  The  procession  of  cheap  cooks  filed 
out  of  the  nasturtium  cottage ;  the  affectionate 
face  of  the  loyal  family  servant  slipped  in,  and 
Carolyn  reassumed  that  measure  of  domestic  com- 
fort which  after  all  goes  so  much  farther  to  make 
life  endurable  than  a  bereaved  person  is  willing 
to  admit. 

To  her  at  this  time  came,  on  one  excuse  or  an- 
other, her  country  neighbor,  Nannie  Hops.  Nan- 
nie in  a  way  cherished  a  genuine  attachment  for 
Mrs.  Dane.  This  dated  back  to  the  era  of  art 
portfolios,  and  the  gown  of  gray  and  white  which 
Miss  Sterling  had  honored  Nannie  by  wearing 
on  her  betrothal  day.  But  that  was  not  the  whole 
story. 

Against  the  brutal  scandal  which  had  well-nigh 
swept  the  "  native  "  belle  of  Balsam  Groves  off  her 
pretty  feet,  Mrs.  Dane  had  set  herself  with  the 
quiet  force  of  her  still  powerful  social  influence. 
She  had  fought  for  Nannie  persistently,  with  the 
indifference  to  popular  opinion  which  was  the  priv- 
ilege of  her  caste.  She  had  trampled  on  the  slan- 
der with  a  scorn  equaled  only  by  her  determina- 
tion. Nannie  thought  that  she  would  have  given 
her  saddened  life  for  Mrs.  Dane. 

185 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 


It  was  more  than  a  year  by  several  months  after 
the  death  of  Chanceford  Dane  when  there  befell 
in  late  October  one  of  the  most  memorable  storms 
that  the  East  Shore  has  known  in  recent  days. 
It  set  in  slowly,  having  threatened  for  forty-eight 
hours,  and  reached  its  climax  with  the  ferocity  of 
the  deliberate.  The  sun  had  not  been  visible  for 
two  days,  and  the  sky  presented  a  mask  like  gray 
felt.  The  sense  of  a  dying  year  was  everywhere. 
The  sumac  and  ivy  which  embellished  the  boul- 
ders left  by  a  fine  taste  undisturbed  in  the  great 
places  of  the  summer  people,  burned  dully,  and 
the  yellow  maples  that  bordered  the  village  roads 
stood  in  rows,  like  torches  half  extinguished;  many 
of  them  were  bared  before  the  storm  came  on,  and 
all  day  the  air  had  been  thick  with  the  ruins  of  the 
remainder.  Driving,  dizzy  leaves  slapped  one  in 
the  face  if  one  turned  against  the  wind,  and  piled 
under  foot  on  sidewalks  and  over  the  long  avenues, 
—  chiefly  deserted  and  closed,  but  still  open  here 
and  there  for  a  few  lingerers  on  the  coast  that  is 
earliest  sought,  latest  left,  and  most  beloved  of 
all  our  pleasure  shores. 

The  temper  of  the  storm  was  gloomy  in  the  ex- 
treme, and  there  was,  from  the  first,  something  sin- 
ister about  it.  In  the  afternoon  the  blow  mounted 
to  an  ominous  gale.  The  offshore  fishermen  (for 
there  were  a  few  who  still  pursued  their  natural 

1 86 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

calling  in  this  land  of  luxury,  where  the  "  native  " 
fattened  on  the  city  strangers)  flapped  down  in 
oilskins  and  rubber  boots  beyond  the  life-saving 
station  and  below  the  great  cliffs  of  the  Sterling 
place  to  see  to  their  dories.  These  picturesque 
figures  hauled  on  their  mooring  lines  to  tauten 
them,  and  yelled  to  one  another — a  fisherman 
shouts,  but  does  not  speak — through  the  roar  of 
wind  and  surf :  — 

"There's  goin'  to  be  a  breeze  o'  wind." 
By  three  o'clock  the  telephone  wires  began  to 
go  down.  Before  dusk  it  was  raining  wildly.  All 
the  afternoon  the  cliffs  were  black  with  people 
watching  the  sea.  This  raged  with  an  infuriated 
will,  which  was  as  if  it  were  heavy  with  an  unac- 
complished purpose,  malign  and  unthwarted;  or  if 
benign,  too  inscrutable  for  human  intelligence.  All 
day  the  water  line  trembled  with  scudding  schoon- 
ers and  sloops,  reefed  to  the  last  possible  stitch, 
and  laboring  painfully.  Everything  caught  out, 
got  in,  if  it  could;  and  nothing  that  was  in  went 
out.  Every  harbor  from  Boston  to  Portland  was 
full;  after  two  o'clock  no  steamer  left  her  dock. 
The  staggering  sails  on  the  horizon  grew  fewer. 
One  white  sloop,  that  ventured  too  much  canvas, 
drove  before  the  wind  for  a  while,  and  suddenly 
went  down,  bow  first.  She  sank  as  a  stone  sinks 
that  a  boy  has  tossed  off  a  wharf;  and  it  was  a  week 

187 


THOUGH    LIFE   US   DO   PART 

before  anything  was  known  of  her.  One  of  the 
fishermen  in  Balsam  Cove  pushed  back  his  drip- 
ping sou'wester,  and  said  to  his  mate:  — 

"Nawthin'  but  one  o'  them  dum  furriners  or 
blarsted  coasters  will  monkey  'round  in  this  here 
to-night,  you  bet." 

The  houses,  like  the  ships,  were  reefed.  Every 
blind  was  fastened,  every  door  locked.  Nothing 
that  could  give  the  wind  a  chance  to  slap  was  left 
carelessly  at  its  mercy.  Carolyn  had  done  every- 
thing that  she  could  think  of  to  keep  the  cottage 
dry  and  fast.  She  was  sitting  in  her  husband's 
office,  where  there  was  a  fire.  Now  and  then  she 
spoke  cheerfully  to  Kathleen  in  the  kitchen  through 
half-opened  doors. 

The  little  boy  had  been  given  his  supper,  and 
his  mother  was  beginning  to  undress  him  before 
the  fire,  for  there  was  none  in  the  bedrooms,  and 
the  night  was  cold.  The  collie  was  asleep  upon 
the  rug  beside  the  child.  Joyce,  in  his  little  white 
nightgown,  with  his  yellow  curls,  made  Murillo 
cherubs  of  himself  against  the  birch  light,  pass- 
ing from  one  round  warm  pose  to  another,  each 
charming,  and  all  happy. 

Joyce  had  the  maturity  of  only  children  who 
are  shut  in  to  the  society  of  sensitive  mothers. 
For  a  little  fellow  he  was  a  large  talker,  and  he  had 
the  curious,  interrogative  temper  frequent  in  boys 

188 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 


of  alert  intelligence,  and  unbearable  to  every  one 
but  parents.  He  pelted  his  mother  with  questions 
as  he  would  have  pelted  her  with  pebbles  or  nas- 
turtiums. 

"Mum  —  mumma?  Is  God  a  zhentleman?" 

"Joyce,  I  told  you  before.  You  must  not  talk 
too  much  about  God.  It  isn't  nice  for  little  boys 
to  joke  about  him." 

"  No,  but  Mumma,  is  God  a  zhentleman?" 

"  Mamma  can't  answer  such  silly  questions.  She 
does  n't  know  much  more  about  God  than  you  do, 
Joyce." 

"  Oh,  I  know  all  about  him,"  insisted  the  child. 
"  I  say  my  pwayers  to  him,  don't  I  ?  Boys  don't 
talk  to  people  he  don't  know.  Say,  Mumma,  is  n't 
God  a  zhentleman?" 

"Listen  to  the  storm,  Joyce.  There!  Hark! 
Aren't  you  glad  we're  not  out  there  in  one  of 
those  ships?  Kneel  down  and  say  your  prayers 
and  tell  God  so." 

"  Clyde  gotta  say  his  pwayers  'f  I  do,"  objected 
Joyce. 

"  Very  well.  Clyde  may  say  his  prayers,  too. 
Come,  Clyde." 

The  boy  and  the  dog  dropped  obediently  to 
knees  and  haunches.  Joyce  rolled  his  curls  upon  his 
mother's  lap.  With  eyes  wide  open,  and  one  fire- 
painted  cheek  upon  her  hand,  he  began:  — 

189 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

"Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep — "but  there 
stopped  short. 

"I  raver  sing  'em.  May  n't  I  sing  'em?  I  like 
song  pwayers  better  'n  talk  pwayers.  Mumma, 
is  God  a  zhentleman?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Carolyn,  boldly. 

The  child  whisked  over  on  her  lap  and  stared 
into  the  fire.  In  a  pretty  plaintive  soprano  he  be- 
gan to  sing:  — 

"  Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep, 
All  vose  ships  sail  on  'e  deep  —  " 

At  this  point  his  devotions  came  to  an  abrupt 
end.  With  solemn  eyes  and  flaming  cheeks  he 
stamped  his  bare  foot  upon  the  rug. 

"Mumma?  Mumma!  I  don't  b'lieve  God  is  a 
zhentleman  —  sending  such  a  norful  storm  on  all 
vose  ships!" 

The  nasturtium  cottage  shook  in  the  blast,  and 
the  boy  began  to  tremble.  Carolyn  cuddled  and 
comforted  him;  she  was  one  of  the  women  who 
are  born  to  cuddle  and  comfort,  —  a  gift  by  no 
means  bestowed  on  all  mothers,  —  and  as  soon  as 
he  was  asleep  she  wrapped  him  and  carried  him 
upstairs  to  bed.  When  she  came  down  and  re- 
sumed her  solitary  chair  by  the  office  fire,  she  found 
the  collie  tramping  the  room  restlessly,  and  whin- 
ing at  the  uncurtained  windows. 

190 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

"  There  's  rockets ! "  cried  Kathleen,  running  in 
from  the  kitchen.  "  It's  a  ship!  She 's  struck  some- 
where! What  an  awful  night  to  be  droonin'  in!" 

The  dog  stood  up  like  a  person,  with  his  fore 
paws  on  the  window  sill,  and  gazed  seaward  anx- 
iously. He  looked  curiously  tall,  and  unnatural ; 
his  sable  hair  bristled,  and  his  ears  went  down. 
Angered  because  he  could  see  nothing  through  the 
darkness,  or  possibly  for  some  other  reason,  he 
began  to  growl. 

"Oh,  the  poor  min!  The  poor,  poor  min!" 
sobbed  Kathleen,  wringing  her  sympathetic  Irish 
hands.  At  this  moment  the  old  brass  knocker  hit 
the  front  door  hurriedly,  and  a  familiar  voice 
cried :  — 

"Mrs.  Dane!  Mrs.  Dane!  Let  me  in!"  The  vis- 
itor was  Nannie,  who  pushed  in,  dripping  and 
excited,  in  her  long  raincoat,  with  the  hood  over 
her  head. 

"  There 's  a  schooner  ashore  !  She  's  struck  just 
off  your  father's  place!  The  whole  town  is  on  the 
cliffs.  I  can't  stay  still.  Nobody  can.  I  'm  going. 
Leave  the  baby  with  Kathleen,  and  come,  too. 
Come!" 

On  the  impulse  of  the  moment  Carolyn  caught 
on  her  own  raincoat,  and  followed  Nannie  into 
the  storm.  It  was  not  raining  as  heavily  as  it  had 
been,  but  the  gale  was  approaching  a  hurricane, 

191 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO    PART 


and  it  now  appeared  that  fog  was  added  to  the 
perils  of  the  night.  This  is  not  common  with  a 
gale  of  that  character,  but  it  sometimes  happens. 
The  two  women  ran  over  the  Sterling  avenue, 
and  out  upon  the  cliffs.  Each  in  her  own  way,  both 
were  sea  girls,  and  the  passion  of  the  sea  was  on 
them.  They  held  each  other's  hands  as  they  ran, 
and  pushed  silently  against  the  wall  of  the  wind. 
Carolyn  noticed,  after  a  time,  that  the  collie  had 
followed  her.  Clyde  was  a  sea  dog,  and  could  no 
more  be  kept  away  from  a  wreck  than  other  people. 
As  Nannie  had  said,  the  whole  town  was  out, 
and  the  cliffs  were  alive  with  moving  human  figures. 
Some  one  had  built  a  bonfire,  and  patches  of  glare 
contended  with  blocks  of  gloom.  From  the  life- 
saving  station  below  the  cove  a  wagon  was  rush- 
ing  with    apparatus.    Fishermen  were  bellowing 
wildly:  — 

"  It's  one  o'them  yellow-pine  coasters!  Blowed 
clean  outen  her  course  —  God  help  her!" 
Then  another  answered  :  — 
"Look  at  her!  Look  at  her!  Look!  She's 
struck  bows  on  Sterling's  reef!  See!  See! 
They  've  stopped  sending  rockets.  They  've  used 
'em  all  up!" 

"God  A'mighty!"  said  a  very  old  fisherman, 
slowly.  "Hear  'em!  Hear  'em!  What's  the  good 
o'  yellin'  like  that?  Ain't  we  doin'  all  we  ken?" 

192 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

Mrs.  Dane  and  Nannie  got  out  upon  the  cliff's 
edge,  and  clung  together  silently.  The  dog  stood 
trembling  with  excitement  beside  them,  and  the 
three  watched  the  tremendous  scene  which  had 
brought  the  village  to  the  spot. 

Upon  the  forked  tongue  of  the  rock  known  as 
Sterling's  reef,  a  hundred  feet  below  the  piazza  of 
the  summer  people,  the  toiler  of  the  sea  lay  pound- 
ing in  the  breakers.  She  was  a  yellow-pine  coaster, 
as  the  omnivoyant  eye  of  the  fisherman  had  dis- 
cerned, bringing  her  cargo  from  some  Southern 
port  —  in  Florida,  it  might  be.  The  gale  had 
beaten  her  out  of  her  course;  the  fog  had  blinded 
her  out  of  her  reckonings,  and  she  had  struck  just 
off  the  great  chasm  —  as  cruel  a  spot  as  could  be 
found  upon  the  East  Shore  for  a  boat  to  batter  her 
brains  out.  The  cliff  was  not  sheer,  but  ragged, 
and  now  slippery  with  spray,  and  its  slope  could 
hardly  be  said  to  hold  a  fighting  chance  for  a 
climbing  life. 

It  lacked  but  a  little  of  full  tide,  and  the  shock 
of  the  breakers  on  the  granite  was  something 
hardly  to  be  imagined  by  softer  shores.  The 
schooner  rocked  like  a  chip,  and  her  lights  looked 
as  small  as  candles,  seen  through  spray  and  fog. 
She  hammered  on  the  reef  desperately,  as  if  she 
had  a  mind  of  her  own,  and  were  trying  to  hew  a 
footing  for  herself,  on  which  to  hold  like  a  thing 

193 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

of  the  land.  Cries  came  up,  but  they  were  inar- 
ticulate. Cries  went  down,  but  the  throat  of  the 
gale  swallowed  them.  No  vocabulary  was  possible 
between  rescuers  and  perishing  but  that  contained 
in  the  signals  of  the  life-saving  service. 

The  apparatus  had  now  come  up,  piled  upon  a 
wagon,  dashed  by  road  and  avenue,  and  tearing  over 
the  beautiful  Sterling  lawns.  The  schooner  seemed 
to  roll  and  stretch  her  hands  to  snatch  the  slender 
line  that  carried  the  first  strand  of  rescue  to  her. 
The  breakers  smote  her  so  that  one  would  have 
said :  "  She  is  swamping." 

Carolyn  clutched  at  Nannie's  shoulder,  and  sud- 
denly sank  down  upon  the  cliff. 

"  It  makes  me  faint !  "  she  gasped.  "  There  is  a 
man  washed  over  !  I  don't  think  anybody  has  seen 
him.  He  will  be  dashed  to  death  in  the  ravine.  I 
cannot —  I  cannot  look  any  longer." 

"  I  did  n't  see  any  man,"  soothed  Nannie.  "  I  am 
sure  you  must  be  mistaken.  I  don't  believe  any- 
body is  drowned.  I  don't  believe  anybody  is  going 
to  be  drowned.  I  think  she  struck  and  wedged 
herself  somehow.  I  will  go  and  ask." 

Nannie  ran,  and  Mrs.  Dane  sat  still.  She  hid  her 
face  on  the  collie's  neck,  and  sobbed  a  little  from 
sheer  weakness  and  excitement.  She  thought, 
"  He  is  some  other  woman's  husband  ;  and  she 
will  never  see  him  again." 

194 


THOUGH  LIFE   US   DO   PART 


The  wreck  and  the  setting  of  the  scene  had  un- 
nerved her.  She  sat  shivering  by  the  closed  and 
deserted  house  of  her  old  home  ;  in  fact,  she  had 
crawled  up  against  the  foot  of  the  eastern  piazza 
—  the  piazza  where  she  had  sat  with  Dane,  and 
watched  the  sun  rise  on  the  night  when  the  young 
doctor  had  saved  her  father;  she  in  her  long  pearl 
cloak  with  its  rose  lining,  and  furred  edge  trembling 
with  every  breath;  he  with  his  lowered  voice,  his 
wooing  eyes;  and  both  hidden  from  one  another  in 
the  shelter  of  that  silence  which  precedes  acknow- 
ledged love.    Her  mind  worked  as  that  of  a  very 
young  person  will  when  one  is  overborne  by  sor- 
row or  care  too  early  in  life;  she  experienced  as 
much  perplexity  as  pain. 

She  naively  said  to  herself,  "  Why,  I  used  to 
think  this  was  a  pleasant  world! "  Her  little  boy's 
question  seemed  to  her  to  have  been  let  loose  on 
the  brutal  gale,  and  to  come  thundering  in  on 
every  death-dealing  wave:  "  Is  God  a  gentleman? 
Is  God  a  gentleman? "  She  did  not  look  again  at 
the  breakers  where  she  had  seen  the  man  washed 
down  from  the  schooner.  She  said,  "He  must  be 
beaten  to  death  by  this  time." 

While  she  sat,  for  the  moment  sunken  in  her 
own  sensitiveness,  the  crew  or  a  part  of  them  were 
got  ashore  upon  the  life  line.  She  did  not  watch 
the  thrilling  scene,  but  covered  her  face  from  the 

195 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

sight  of  it,  and  wished  that  she  might  never  look 
upon  the  sea  again. 

"Don't  take  it  so,  Mrs.  Dane!  Don't!"  said 
Nannie,  suddenly  appearing  in  her  long,  wet  coat. 
"  I  'm  sure  there  was  no  man  washed  over.  Nobody 
thinks  so  but  you.  And,  dear  —  listen!  It's  just 
as  I  told  you.  There  won't  be  anybody  drowned. 
Three  have  come  over  on  the  lines  already.  Cap'n 
and  the  mate  won't  leave  the  ship,  and  they  say 
the  cap'n's  son 's  aboard,  too.  But  they  expect  every 
minute  she  will —  Oh,  there  !  Look!  Look!  See 
that!" 

Nannie  cried  out,  and  Carolyn,  quivering,  got 
to  her  feet.  The  two  women  clung  together,  sob- 
bing as  women  will,  in  tense  moments,  while  the 
wrecked  schooner  yawed  in  the  breakers,  rose  like 
a  rearing  horse,  and  went  headlong,  far  upon  the 
reef.  A  tremendous  comber  dashed  her  high  and 
dry,  and  fixed  her  there. 

Now,  above  the  cannonade  of  the  sea,  the  voice 
of  the  very  old  fisherman  uprose  shrilly:  — 

"What  did  I  tell  yer?  She's  run  her  nose  in 
tight.  To  blazes  with  the  breeches  buoy !  Every 
mother's  son  of  'em  can  walk  ashore.  I  bet  my  dory 
she  '11  hold  till  ebb." 

"  'T  ain't  a  big  crew,"  he  added  ;  "  just  a  handful. 
If  every  soul  of  'em  ain't  walkin'  Balsam  streets 
come  mornin',  I  '11  eat  my  sou'wester." 

196 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO    PART 

"  There!"  cried  Nannie.  "  What  did  I  tell  you  ? 
Now  they  '11  walk  ashore  on  the  bowsprit.  Mr.  Hart 
is  down  there,"  added  Nannie,  abruptly.  "  He 's 
trying  to  help.   I  saw  him  with  the  fishermen." 

"  He  always  is  trying  to  help,"  answered  Carolyn. 
"  He  can't  live  if  he  does  n't.  If  God  is  anything 
like  him — " 

Her  excited  thought  worked  on :  "  Is  God  a 
gentleman  ?  Is  God  like  Sterling  Hart  ?  " 

"  All  the  same,"  she  said  dully,  "  there  is  a  man; 
he  was  washed  over.  And  God  is  letting  him  die 
down  there." 

She  put  out  her  hand,  with  the  instinct  of  the 
lonely  and  the  dog  loving,  to  seek  comfort  in  her 
collie.  She  was  startled  to  find  that  Clyde  was  no 
longer  beside  her ;  nor,  indeed,  was  he  to  be  seen. 
She  called,  but  he  did  not  come,  and  did  not  an- 
swer. She  got  to  her  feet  and  ran  along  the  edge 
of  the  cliff,  whistling  and  shouting  his  name  as  she 
ran.  Then  Nannie  saw  her  throw  up  her  hands, 
and  thought  she  was  crying  out  loudly,  "  He  has 
gone  down!  Clyde  is  halfway  down  the  cliff  — 
Clyde!  Come  back!  Come  back,  sir!  Oh,  he  will 
be  washed  into  the  surf !  He  will  be  drowned,  too !  " 

Impetuous  and  fearless,  Carolyn  started  to  fol- 
low the  dog.  The  spray  spattered  a  hundred  feet 
from  the  caldron  below,  and  hit  her,  as  she  groped 
for  the  narrow  footway  that  wound  across  the  cliff. 

197 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

It  was  the  boundary  beyond  high-water  line  de- 
manded by  the  winter  people  from  the  summer 
people;  in  this  case  seldom  used  except  in  evidence 
of  possession,  as  a  street  railway  runs  a  car  over  an 
abandoned  track  once  in  so  often  to  preserve  its 
charter. 

The  path,  if  such  it  could  be  called,  was  nearly 
three  feet  wide,  irregular  and  jagged,  now  wet  and 
slippery  with  spray.  Clinging  like  a  goat,  the  col- 
lie had  followed  this  for  some  fifty  feet,  and  then 
abruptly  left  it.  Carolyn  hurried  after  him,  calling 
as  she  went.  But  she  had  not  gone  far  when  she 
was  stopped  by  a  tremendous  grip  upon  her  arm. 
Sterling  Hart  rose  above  her  like  some  primeval 
figure  carved  out  of  granite.  He  swung  a  lantern 
in  his  hand,  and  she  could  see  his  commanding 
face.  He  wore  oilskins  and  a  sou'wester,  like  the 
fishermen,  and  looked  a  demigod,  born  of  sea  and 
shore.  Without  a  wasted  word  he  turned  Carolyn 
around  on  the  narrow  ledge  and  sternly  bade  her 
go  back. 

"  But  Clyde  will  be  drowned ! "  she  protested, 
sobbing. 

"  I  will  find  the  dog.  Go  back !  " 

"  And  there  is  a  man  down  there.  The  man  is 
drowned! " 

The  very  old  fisherman  had  come  to  the  edge 
of  the  cliff,  and  was  looking  over.  The  preacher 

108 


THOUGH    LIFE   US   DO    PART 

curved  a  trumpet  of  his  hands  and  made  out  to 
be  heard  through  the  thunder. 

"  John  Tobey,  come  down  !  Get  some  boys  and 
come  !  There  is  trouble  here." 

With  the  shouts  of  the  sea  loving  and  the  sea 
daring,  the  fishermen  scrambled  after  the  preacher. 
Carolyn,  from  above,  could  track  them  by  the 
swinging  of  their  lanterns.  Halfway  down  the  cliff 
the  lanterns  paused.  The  surf,  leaping  fifty  feet, 
extinguished  one.  The  noise  of  the  breakers  was 
as  frightful  as  it  was  deafening,  but  cleaving  it 
sharply,  she  heard,  or  thought  she  heard,  the  bark 
of  her  own  dog. 

"  I  vum,"  said  old  John  Tobey.  "  There  he  is ! 
The  critter's  there!  What's  he  got  in  tow?" 

Drenched  by  spray,  and  slipping  as  he  strug- 
gled, teeth  set  in  an  arm,  in  a  shoulder,  in  a  hip, 
anyhow,  anywhere  he  could,  the  collie  was  trying 
to  dra£  a  human  figure  out  of  the  reach  of  the 
surf.  This  was  dashing  already  dangerously  near 
the  man,  and  the  dog  himself  was  hard  put  to  it 
to  keep  his  footing.  When  the  fishermen  came 
down  Clyde  growled.  He  suspiciously  scanned 
the  preacher  in  his  oilskins,  and  reluctantly  yielded 
to  him  the  broken  and  unconscious  man. 

Clyde  stood  before  his  mistress,  panting  and 
drenched,  pleasantly  wagging  his  tail.  The  dog 

199 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO    PART 

seemed  to  smile.  Carolyn  laid  her  wet  cheek  on 
his  wet  head  and  kissed  him  girlishly.  When 
she  lifted  her  face,  the  preacher  and  the  fisher- 
men were  passing  by  her.  They  did  not  speak  to 
her. 

There  was  a  little  pile  of  dead,  wet  leaves  blown 
against  the  piazza,  and  on  this  the  rescuers  silently 
laid  their  burden  down.  Carolyn  saw  that  they 
carried  an  elderly  man;  his  short,  drenched  hair 
was  quite  white,  and  his  face  was  averted.  One 
limp  arm  lay  out  on  the  grass.  His  clothes  were 
badly  torn  from  him,  and  he  was  so  mangled  that 
she  turned  her  eyes  away  and  shuddered. 

Her  natural  self-possession  had  now  come  back 
to  her,  and  with  it  her  natural  sympathy. 
"  Is  he  dead  ?  "  she  asked  quietly. 
"  He's  battered  to  jelly,"  said  old  John  Tobey, 
"  but  he  's  a  livin'  man." 

"Who  is  going  to  take  care  of  him?"  urged 
Carolyn,  anxiously  lifting  her  tender  face  to  her 
cousin.  "Somebody  must.  My  house  is  nearest. 
Bring  him  there.  I  will  do  the  best  I  can." 

"  Not  on  any  account,"  replied  the  preacher, 
decidedly.  "My  house  is  nearest.  We  will  take 
him  there.  This  is  a  case  for  surgeons  and  a  hos- 
pital, whichever  way  you  look  at  it  —  but  he  can't 
go  now.  Boys!  This  way.  Some  of  you  fresh 
hands  that  are  n't  tired  out !    Bring  this  poor  fel- 

200 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

low  with  me.  We  will  give  him  all  the  chance  he 
has." 

The  tragedy  of  that  October  gale,  like  the  short 
story  demanded  by  the  modern  reader,  had  its 
happy  ending.  The  remainder  of  the  wrecked 
crew  walked  ashore  on  the  bowsprit,  as  the  old 
fisherman  had  foretold,  and  "  every  mother's  son  " 
was  saved.  The  fate  of  the  stranger  whom  the  sea 
cast  upon  the  Sterling  cliff  was  not  so  promptly 
decided.  He  lingered  for  some  weeks  in  the  Bal- 
sam hospital  with  a  broken  leg  and  mangled  head 
and  face ;  and  went  upon  the  dangerous  list,  but 
yielded  to  treatment,  and  was  discharged —  to  what 
fate  nobody  knew.  When  the  preacher,  who  had 
conscientiously  followed  the  case,  came  out  from 
the  city  to  call  at  the  hospital  one  dark  December 
day,  he  found  the  patient  gone.  He  did  not  return 
to  Balsam  Groves,  but  sunk  out  of  sight  as  he  had 
sunk  from  the  schooner  into  the  breakers  of  such 
life  as  the  friendless  and  the  crippled  know. 

To  Carolyn  the  whole  episode  was  as  poignant 
as  it  was  painful.  Its  impressions  lasted  a  long 
while.  The  storm,  the  wreck,  the  surf,  the  cast- 
away crawling  like  a  broken  lizard  upon  the  rocks, 
dragging  his  shattered  limb  to  save  his  —  who 
knew  how  worthless,  how  hopeless?  —  life;  the 
dog,  daring  destruction  to  rescue  this  unknown 

201 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

specimen  of  the  master,  man ;  the  unconscious 
body  as  it  lay  upon  the  wet,  dead  leaves  against 
the  piazza  of  her  old  home  —  these  flashlights 
faded  but  slowly  from  her  brain  and  heart.  The 
individual  perished,  but  the  type  grew  more  and 
more  to  her  aroused  and  uneasy  interrogation. 
The  cruelty  of  the  sea  seemed  to  her  scarcely 
more  savage  than  the  teeth  of  life.  Carolyn  was 
no  theologian,  but  the  unanswered  question  of  the 
ages  began  to  gain  ground  with  her:  Why?  Why? 
If  "  God  were  a  gentleman  " —  why  ? 

She  was  beginning  to  learn  that  though  the 
first  pang  of  widowhood  may  be  loneliness,  the 
worst  is  despairing  doubt.  Lost  happiness  is  easier 
to  bear  than  lost  faith.  She  felt  her  lot  severe,  for 
she  was  young,  and  she  had  known  great  joy.  But 
the  education  of  sorrow  is  never  so  thorough  as 
when  it  is  given  to  the  nature  that  has  the  love 
genius  and  the  genius  of  suffering;  for  these  twain 
are  one.  With  the  docility  of  a  sweet  woman, 
Carolyn  spelled  her  lessons  out.  Although  she 
could  not  know  it,  she  was  about  to  meet  the  move- 
ment of  events  which  would  tear  out  half  the  pages 
of  her  widowed  life,  and  insert  the  blank  spaces  on 
which  experience  inscribes  the  unimagined  or  the 
unimaginable. 


CHAPTER   XIII 

Douce  Marriot  lay  among  her  great  pillows  and 
looked  at  the  loves  carved  and  gilded  upon  the 
posts  of  her  Empire  bedstead.  The  little  glittering 
figures  carried  garlands  which  met  above  her  on 
the  headboard.  At  the  foot  they  carried  nothing,  but 
sat  in  groups  of  two,  and  whispered,  kissing.  The 
room  was  large  and  ornate  ;  everything  about  Mrs. 
Marriot  had  always  been  ornate.  There  is  a  sim- 
plicity of  principle  which  extends  itself  to  the  de- 
tails of  life,  and  the  absence  of  which  tells  upon 
them.  The  bed-chamber  was  decorated  in  yellows, 
rising  to  the  gold  light,  relieved  by  tapestry  panels ; 
on  the  tapestry  knights  and  ladies  rode  beneath 
and  through  oak  leaves,  dead  and  brown.  Across 
the  room  from  the  bed's  foot  a  mirror  flashed  from 
velvet  rug  to  frescoed  ceiling.  The  frame  of  this 
glass  was  swathed  in  tulle  below  its  parted  lace 
draperies,  and  thus  gave  to  the  complexion  that 
softness  which  women  love,  and  demand  of  their 
mirrors,  by  any  device  that  art  can  offer. 

Douce  Marriot  glanced  across  the  gilded  loves 
at  the  reflection  of  her  too  experienced  face  within 
the  glass. 

203 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO    PART 


"lama  mummy,"  she  said,  "  already." 
The  woman  of  pleasure  recoiled  from  the  image 
of  the  face  and  body  whose  celebrated  charms  had 
left  a  trail  of  broken  hearts  and  wasted  homes  be- 
hind her.  She  had  been  ill  but  a  week  —  a  foolish 
illness,  an  exasperating  thing  brought  upon  her 
by  the  neglect  of  a  housekeeper  (summarily  dis- 
charged), whose  fatal  work  could  not  be  undone. 
The  house  was  cold,  the  room  unsunned,  the  mat- 
tress damp  —  who  knew  what? — and  the  first  of 
May  that  year  was  as  raw  as  the  grave.  The  mis- 
tress of  the  most  elaborate  place  upon  the  East 
Shore,  coming  out  with  her  usual  business  punc- 
tuality, had  been  confronted  by  the  great  tax-gath- 
erer, whom  no  evasion  or  persuasion  may  escape. 
One  of  the  racing  pneumonias  which  are  the  ter- 
ror of  New  England  had  attacked  the  superb 
vigor  of  Douce  Marriot's  beautiful  body,  and  that 
which  she  had  called  her  soul  found  itself  face  to 
face  with  the  unpleasant  circumstance  of  death. 
Her  keen  intelligence  was  not  to  be  deceived,  and 
since  the  first  forty-eight  hours  of  her  illness  she 
had  not  expected  that  she  would  recover. 

Her  servants  and  her  husband,  important  to  her 
in  the  order  of  this  going,  attended  her  dutifully. 
The  house  seemed  to  brim  over  with  relays  of  nurses, 
relieving  one  another  with  the  regularity  of  the 
severe  or  dangerous  case.    Experts  from  the  city 

204 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

consulted  every  day  beside  the  gilded  bed,  and  the 
old  Balsam  doctor  turned  his  less  dangerously  sick 
patients  over  to  a  colleague,  and  slept  every  night 
at  the  great  house.  Mrs.  Marriot  was  aghast  at  the 
inconceivable  position  in  which  she  found  herself. 
That  she  must  some  time  die  like  common  peo- 
ple, she  had,  of  course,  been  obliged  to  admit;  but 
it  had  never  suggested  itself  to  her  that  this  vul- 
gar outcome  of  a  life  of  pleasure  could  occur  be- 
fore one  was  old  and  ugly, —  too  old  to  arouse 
admiration,  or  that  which  she  had  been  pleased 
to  call  love.  Upon  the  sex  intoxication  she  had 
fed  all  her  days.  Had  she  lived  long  enough  to 
exhaust  its  interest,  she  thought  she  would  have 
minded  dying  less.  Death  seemed  to  her  a  high- 
wayman, with  hands  upon  her  throat,  and  about 
to  rob  her  of  inexhaustible  treasure,  —  her  per- 
sonal capacity  for  joy.  Who  else,  she  reasoned, 
had  her  sumptuous  resources  ?  Why  could  not 
some  colder,  plainer,  uglier  woman  die  ?  Some 
one  without  her  genius  for  playing  the  great  game 
between  man  and  woman  ?  Some  one  who  knew 
less  of  the  delight  of  living;  perhaps —  ah,  yes,  her 
honest  self  admitted — some  one  who  bore  less 
of  the  responsibility  of  inflicted  pain. 

She  was  not  fretful  or  exacting.  Her  polished 
manner  and  her  liking  to  be  liked  followed  her  to 
the  end.  Her  nurses  and  servants  found  her  con- 

205 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

siderate,  and  her  husband,  shaken  by  a  real  grief, 
haunted  her  sickroom. 

She  put  out  her  already  wasted  hand,  and 
he,  sitting  close  beside  her,  took  it  in  both  of 
his. 

"  Harry  ?  "  She  spoke  with  difficulty,  but  with 
a  distinctness  which  indicated  that  she  would  fight 
for  her  power  of  expression  to  the  last.  "  Harry, 
you  are  very  good  to  me.  I  don't  deserve  it.  Harry, 
listen.  There  are  two  people  I  must  see.  Go  send 
them  to  me.  Let  Mrs.  Dane  come  first.  I  have  a 
word  to  say  to  Mrs.  Dane.  It  will  not  take  me 
long;  and  then,  oh,  then  I  must  see  Sterling  Hart. 
Don't  let  there  be  any  talk  about  it,"  she  added 
shrewdly.  "  Bring  them  separately,  and  quietly ; 
no  fuss.  I  don't  think  there  is  any  too  much  time 
to  spare." 

"  I  will  see  to  it  myself,"  said  Harry  Marriot, 
choking.  He  pressed  his  quivering  lips  upon  the 
hand  that  held  his  marriage  ring.  He  cared  for 
Douce  as  if  she  had  been  a  better  wife. 

Mrs.  Dane  passed  the  open  portieres  of  the  blue 
velvet  room  without  looking  in.  She  had  obeyed 
the  sacred  summons  of  the  dying,  but  she  winced 
away  from  it  in  every  nerve.  The  face  of  the  but- 
ler, too  poignantly  recalled,  seemed  to  her  gro- 
tesque, like  a  gargoyle,  and   to  have  what  she 

206 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

would  have  called  the  assumed  unconsciousness 
of  one.  She  trod  the  soundless  stairs  reluctantly, 
and  entered  the  sickroom  not  without  marked 
dignity  of  manner;  but  at  the  sight  of  the  sinking 
woman  her  natural  tenderness  of  heart  overcame 
her.  She  sat  down  beside  Douce  Marriot's  bed  as 
if  it  had  been  that  of  any  other  sick  person,  and 
murmured  something  inarticulate  in  the  way  of 
sympathy.  Instinctively  her  hand  stirred  towards 
the  sufferer,  but  it  fell  upon  her  black  dress,  and 
there  remained. 

"  This  is  very  good  of  you,"  began  Douce  Mar- 
riot,  as  if  she  had  been  receiving  in  her  drawing- 
room.  "But  I  expected  it.  I  thought  you  'd  come. 
You  are  made  that  way.  And  I,"  she  added  slowly, 
"  I  am  made  the  other  way.  That  is  how  it  came 
about.  I  can't  talk  —  not  very  much.  You  see. 
But  I  sent  for  you  because  I  had  to.  There's 
something  I  must  tell  you.  I  had  to  send.  I  ve 
got  to  say  it." 

A  little  gold  French  clock  on  the  mantel  above 
the  flickering  fireplace  ticked  delicately  between 
these  labored  sentences,  as  if  it  supplied  a  punctu- 
ation imperative  upon  them  —  the  solemn  punctu- 
ation of  time. 

"  It's  not  a  nice  thing  to  have  to  say  —  about 
one's  self,"  continued  Mrs.  Marriot,  as  distinctly 
as  she  could.  "  But  it  is  the  truth.  Mrs.  Dane, 

207 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 


your  husband  was  not  to  blame  —  that  day.  It 
was  not  Dr.  Dane's  fault.  It  was  mine." 

Between  the  ticking  of  the  gold  clock  Douce 
Marriot  heard  one  sharp  gasp  —  no  more.  Caro- 
lyn's face  had  gone  as  white  as  the  folds  of  tulle 
upon  the  mirror,  and  looked  as  if  it  would  crush 
as  easily.  But  she  showed  no  other  sign  of  agita- 
tion. 

"  It  was  entirely  mine,"  repeated  Mrs.  Marriot. 
Her  head,  sunken  in  her  deep  pillow,  tossed  fever- 
ishly once  or  twice,  but  she  was  as  composed  as 
the  other,  and  her  physical  weakness  made  this 
fact,  somehow,  remarkable. 

"  I  ought  to  have  told  you  before,"  she  added. 
"  But  I  did  n't.  A  gentleman  does  n't  explain  at 
the  expense  of  a  woman  —  sometimes  not  even  to 
his  wife.  He  did  n't,  —  did  he  ?  " 

Carolyn  shook  her  head. 

"  I  thought  not.  It  would  n't  be  like  him.  It's 
a  pity.  But  it  can't  be  helped.  I  'm  going  to  die. 
You  know  that,  don't  you  ?  Well,  I  am.  And  I 
had  to  tell  you  first.  I  had  to,  —  don't  you  see  ?  " 

"  I  see,"  said  Carolyn  Dane. 

"  The  whole  blame  is  mine,"  reiterated  Mrs.  Mar- 
riot. "  When  the  devil  was  sick,  the  devil  a  monk 
would  be.  I  found  it  inconvenient  to  die  without 
easing  you  ...  of  that.  I  never  did  anything  I 
.  .  .  regretted  more.  Made  up  the  way  you  are, 

208 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 


you  must  have  taken  it  .  .  .  hard.  Relieve  his 
memory  of  that.  He  does  n't  deserve  it.  Lay  it  on 
me — pUt  it  all  on  mine,  when  I  am  .  .  .  floating 
about  ...  a  clammy  ghost.  Lord ! "  said  Douce 
Marriot,  "what  a  devil  of  a  thing  it  is  to  die !" 

But  Carolyn  sat  still  with  her  face  in  her  hands. 
For  that  first  moment  her  intense  personal  emo- 
tion isolated  her  from  the  world  and  all  that  was 
therein ;  the  living  or  the  dying  were  alike  to  her, 
spectres  with  which  she  had  no  concern.  Then 
she  uncovered  her  eyes,  and  they  turned  to  the 
panting  figure  on  the  bed. 

"  After  all,"  she  said  gently,  "you  must  have 
borne  the  harder  end  —  of  this." 

Douce  Marriot  regarded  her  solemnly.  If  she 
had  wished  to  be  forgiven,  the  woman  of  the  world 
would  not  say  so.  She  felt  that  she  had  received 
a  nobler  treatment  than  she  had  the  right  to  ex- 
pect ;  but  she  did  not  put  it  to  herself  in  this 
phrase.  There  are  certain  high-minded  adjectives 
not  apt  to  be  used  except  by  natures  capable  of 
that  which  they  represent,  and  this  may  be  called 
one  of  them.  The  sick  woman  closed  her  eyes  be- 
fore the  subject  wearily ;  and  Carolyn  crept  away. 
In  the  hall  she  met  her  cousin,  coming  from  the 
great  blue  drawing-room.  He  looked  something 
startled  at  seeing  her  where  she  was,  but  asked 
no  questions.  They  met  and  passed  with  a  strong 

209 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

and  silent  hand  grasp,  and  the  preacher  went  on, 
and  up  the  stairs. 

"  I  see  that  you  have  no  strength  to  talk.  Can 
you  put  in  a  few  words  what  it  is  you  wish  to  say 
to  me?"  Sterling  Hart  sat  by  the  elaborate  bed, 
and  looked  with  a  solemn  pity  at  its  occupant. 

"  It  is  about  this  business  of  dying,"  said  Mrs. 
Marriot.  "  You  understand  the  subject ;  I  do  not. 
What  is  one  to  do  under  the  circumstances  ? " 

"  Believe  in  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  His  only 
Son,  our  Saviour,"  replied  Mr.  Hart,  devoutly. 

"  Oh,  I  have  always  been  a  good  churchwoman," 
pleaded  Mrs.  Marriot.  "  I  never  doubted  the  doc- 
trines. ...  Is  that  all?" 

"  No,  that  is  not  all.  You  should  repent  of  your 
sins." 

"  My— what?" 

"  I  said  '  your  sins.'  " 

"Oh,  you  mean  my  —  indiscretions?  My  follies, 
I  suppose.  I  admit  that  I  have  been  imprudent." 

"  It  is  a  difference  in  definition,"  replied  the 
preacher.  "  You  have  sent  for  me.  I  am  a  clergy- 
man of  the  Christian  faith.  I  cannot  play  with 
words  or  blunt  the  facts  to  you.  If  you  do  not  wish 
to  hear  the  truth,  I  can  do  nothing  for  you." 

"A  dying  woman  !  You  are  hard  !" 

"No!  No!  God  forbid!  Not  hard.  Only  honest, 
only  true." 

210 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

"The  follies  of  a  gay  life!  Every  society  woman 
makes  some  mistakes." 

"  I  do  not  speak  of  follies.  I  do  not  refer  to  your 
mistakes.  I  am  talking  about  your  sins.  I  say  you 
must  repent  of  them  before  you  die." 

"  I  never  was  spoken  to  so  before,"  Douce  Mar- 
riot  whispered,  "  not  in  all  my  life." 

Panting,  she  tried  to  struggle  up  against  her 
pillows,  but  fell  back.  She  looked  at  the  gilded 
loves  upon  the  foot  of  the  bed,  and  quoted  with 
a  dreary  smile :  — 

"What  became  of  them,  I  wonder, 
When  the  kissing  had  to  stop  ?  " 

In  the  long  mirror,  between  the  folds  of  chalk- 
pale  tulle  her  own  shrunken  face  gazed  back  at 
her. 

11 1  am  a  Protestant  priest,"  replied  the  preacher, 
kindly.  "  I  have  no  right  to  force  a  confession 
from  you.  You  are  an  intelligent  woman;  you  can 
deal  with  God  directly." 

"God?"  she  repeated.  "God!  What's  that?  I 
have  been  interested  in  other  matters.  God,  —  sins, 
—  repenting?"  She  repeated  the  three  words  with 
a  curious  intonation.  "  It  is  a  foreign  language," 
she  said,  with  one  of  her  shrewd  smiles. 

Mr.  Hart  looked  across  the  gilded  bed  at  the 
knights  and  ladies  who  rode  forever  through  dead 

211 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

leaves  upon  the  tapestry.  His  eyes  assumed  a 
strange  luminosity,  as  if  he  saw  nothing  without 
them,  but  dwelt  on  images  which  came  from 
within. 

"  If  your  time  is  as  short  as  you  think,"  he 
said  in  a  changed  voice,  "  I  ought  to  tell  you  the 
whole  truth,  or  none  of  it.  I  ought  to  tell  you 
the  utter  truth,  or  I  ought  to  hold  my  peace  for- 
ever." 

"  The  truth !  "  she  gasped.  "  The  truth  !  I  want 
it.  I  want  just  that.  Tell  me  what  you  mean  by 
that  word  '  sin.'  I  am  a  reputable  woman.  I  have 
never  compromised  myself." 

"  No,"  said  Sterling  Hart,  unexpectedly.  "  You 
have  been  too  prudent  to  compromise  yourself. 
Yourself  you  have  protected.  Others  you  have  not 
protected.  There  are  women  with  ruined  reputa- 
tions who  are  less  to  blame,  in  the  sight  of  God, 
than  you.  You  have  gone  to  the  very  verge  of 
evil  —  as  far  as  you  could  —  without  hurling  your- 
self down.  You  have  played  with  the  greatest 
danger  of  a  human  soul  and  a  human  body.  You 
have  made  this  the  business  of  your  life." 

He  was  stopped  by  a  low,  protesting  cry. 

"  Let  me  call  your  husband,  your  nurses ! "  urged 
the  preacher,  himself  almost  as  pale  as  she,  with 
the  tension  of  the  scene.  "  You  are  too  weak  for 
this.  I  will  stop  where  I  am.  I  will  offer  a  prayer 

212 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 


for  you  —  if  you  wish  me  to  —  and  leave  you  at 
once.  I  will  not  go  on." 

But  she  commanded,  "Go  on!  Go  on!" 

"It  is  all  in  a  few  words,"  he  explained.  His 
face  worked  with  an  infinite  compassion,  while  yet 
it  recoiled  with  an  exquisite  abhorrence. 

"  You  have  played  with  the  natures  —  with  the 
lower  natures  —  of  men  as  if  they  had  been  chil- 
dren's toys.  You  have  broken  the  hearts  of  women 
as  if  they  had  been  shells  beneath  your  feet.  You 
have  made  yourself  a  drunkard  of  admiration  as  a 
man  becomes  a  drunkard  of  wine.  You  had  the 
gift  of  beauty,  and  you  degraded  it;  of  charm,  and 
you  debased  it.  You  have  been  a  light  woman. 
This  is  a  sin.  The  things  that  you  call  imprudences 
are  sins.  Your  indiscretions  —  they  are  sins.  Re- 
pent of  them :  there  is  time.  Call  them  by  their 
true  names  —  it  is  too  late  to  call  them  by  any 
other.  This  is  one  of  the  things,"  added  the 
preacher,  brokenly,  "  that  Jesus  Christ  lived  and 
died  for  .  .  .  to  understand  a  position  like  yours 
...  to  forgive  ...  to  be  gentle  ...  to  overlook, 
to  forget,  to  reinstate  you  in  your  own  soul  .  .  . 
to  restore  a  precious  thing  you  miss  —  your  self- 
respect." 

Then  she  cried  out  upon  him,  "  My  self-respect  ? 
I  lost  it  so  long,  so  long  ago !  If  I  had  my  life  to 
live  over,  —  if  I  could  begin  again —  Pray!"  said 

213 


THOUGH   LIFE  US   DO   PART 

Douce  Marriot,  peremptorily.  "  You  are  a  good 
man.  You  speak  the  truth.  You  are  not  afraid  to. 
Pray  for  me.  Whatever  this  repenting  means  .  .  . 
obtain  it  for  me.  I  am  very  ill.  I  cannot  .  .  .  un- 
derstand theology.  But  I  am  sorry.  I  am  sorry 
for  .  .  .  almost  everything." 

So  the  preacher  fell  upon  his  knees,  and  prayed 
for  the  soul  of  Douce  Marriot :  and  the  loves  upon 
the  gilded  bed,  that  had  never  witnessed  anything 
like  this  before,  seemed  to  stop  whispering  and 
kissing  to  listen  to  him.  It  was  the  prayer  of  a 
great  man,  as  well  as  a  good  priest,  and  it  wrestled 
mightily  for  the  woman  of  this  world  with  the 
forces  of  the  other. 

Her  husband  had  stolen  into  the  room,  and 
knelt  also,  weeping,  by  the  bedside.  Douce  Marriot 
put  out  her  feeble  hand.  She  was  quite  self-pos- 
sessed, and  had  a  strange  expression. 

"  Harry,"  she  said  quietly,  "  don't  cry.  I  wish  I  'd 
been  ...  a  better  wife." 

As  the  healer  of  souls  went  out  of  the  sickroom 
he  met  a  healer  of  bodies  on  the  way  to  it.  En- 
grossed in  the  agitation  of  the  scene  through  which 
he  had  passed,  Sterling  Hart  passed  the  man  with- 
out a  glance,  bowing  abstractedly.  The  physician 
was  a  stranger  to  him,  but  he  knew  that  strangers 
had  been  called  to  the  case,  whose  hopelessness 

214 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

he  had  taken  for  granted  from  the  husband's  re- 
port. When  he  had  passed  the  man,  it  occurred 
to  him  that  this  was  none  of  the  eminent  city  ex- 
perts, and  as  he  stood  at  the  front  door  he  looked 
back. 

The  physician  was  mounting  the  stairs  slowly 
and  with  difficulty.  He  was  evidently  lame,  —  an 
elderly  man,  and  he  stooped. 

The  clergyman  observed  the  doctor  carelessly, 
and  passed  on.  But  the  butler  followed,  and 
said:  — 

"  It's  the  new  one,  sir;  it's  Dr.  Royal.  The  old 
one  from  Balsam,  he's  gone  to  bury  his  mother, 
and  he  sent  this  one  instead,  sir.  Maybe  he  '11  be 
doin'  something  for  her,  do  you  think,  sir?" 

The  preacher  answered  absently.  He  gazed  at 
the  servant  without  seeing  him,  and  went  out  into 
the  cold  May  noon.  As  the  greatest  are  the  most 
modest  men,  so  the  consecrated  are  the  self-dis- 
trustful. Sterling  Hart  recalled  the  intense  scene 
of  the  morning  with  sensitive  challenge  of  his  own 
spiritual  perception  and  power.  Had  he  gone  too 
far,  or  not  far  enough  ?  Had  he  prepared  the  woman 
for  another  world,  or  only  shortened  her  life  in 
this  ? 

The  healer  of  bodies  limped  on  up  the  stairs 
and  entered  the  sickroom.    Dr.  Royal  sat  down 

2iS 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 


beside  the  patient,  and  touched  his  finger  to  her 
pulse.  He  did  not  immediately  speak.  Mrs.  Mar- 
riot  opened  her  eyes  with  a  flicker  of  interest. 

"  Oh,"  she  said.    "  Another  stranger  ?  Well,  do 
your  best,  or  worst.  It  doesn't  signify." 


CHAPTER   XIV 

The  miracles  are  of  every  age  and  always  with  us. 
Douce  Marriot  did  not  die.  The  case,  considered 
practically  hopeless  by  the  eminent  experts,  took 
an  incredible  turn.  Whether  the  healer  of  souls  or 
the  healer  of  bodies  wrought  the  marvel,  no  pru- 
dent person  was  prepared  to  say.  Moral  invigora- 
tion  is  a  lordly  stimulant,  and  has  been  known  to 
do  great  deeds.  What  we  call  the  repentance  of  a 
human  soul  is  a  medicine  whose  place  has  never 
been  classified  in  any  materia  medica;  and  that 
Mrs.  Marriot  had  actually  partaken  of  this  heroic 
remedy  it  proved  (as  soon  as  anything  could  be 
proved)  difficult  for  the  scoffer  to  deny. 

The  elderly  stranger,  he  who  had  but  a  few 
weeks  since  begun  to  practice  in  Balsam  Groves, 
quietly  refrained  from  claiming  his  share  of  re- 
cognition for  the  recovery  of  the  patient.  But  it 
was  whispered  about  that  this  modesty  was,  as 
modesty  so  often  is,  the  mask  of  power ;  and  it 
soon  became  understood  that  the  new  doctor  was 
of  a  younger  professional  faith  than  that  by  which 
the  great  houses  of  the  East  Shore  were  accus- 
tomed to  live  or  die ;  in  fact,  he  belonged  to  a 
different  school  of  therapeutics,  and  so  it  might 

217 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

have  happened  that  he  gained  the  case  which  his 
more  conservative  colleagues  had  lost.  At  all 
events,  from  whatever  cause,  Douce  Marriot  got 
well. 

Then  there  was  witnessed  one  of  the  splendid 
spiritual  phenomena  which  sometimes  flash  across 
the  skies  even  of  our  cold  days.  From  a  woman 
in  the  depth  of  her  being  devoid  of  principle,  Mrs. 
Marriot  convalesced  into  a  devotee.  With  her 
natural  acuteness  she  perceived  that  nothing 
could  altogether  restore  to  her  the  confidence  o£ 
her  own  sex  or  the  respect  of  the  other.  She  went 
so  far  as  to  feel  that  she  must  content  herself  with 
the  affection  of  her  husband  and  the  forgiveness 
of  her  God.  She  reconstructed  her  life  rapidly, 
with  tremendous  enthusiasms.  She  was  like  a 
builder  who  begins  at  the  top  of  his  house.  She 
did  not  climb  a  moral  ladder,  but  took  a  spiritual 
flight.  If  she  had  been  a  Catholic  —  so  profound 
was  her  renewal  —  she  would  have  entered  a  con- 
vent. Her  church  provided  no  such  solution  for 
her,  and  with  something  of  the  picturesqueness 
which  belonged  to  her  she  did  the  most  appealing, 
the  most  dramatic  thing  within  her  reach.  The 
East  Shore  smiled  when  it  went  forth  that  Douce 
Marriot  had  joined  the  Salvation  Army. 

In  process  of  time  the  penitent  forced  the  skep- 
ticism  of   society  into  astonished   respect.    She 

218 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO    PART 

passed  through  her  moods  and  phases  of  spiritual 
experiment  like  any  mentally  undisciplined  and 
emotional  woman  who  had  never  before  given 
life  and  the  world  a  thought,  except  through  the 
brain  cells  of  her  own  egoism.  At  first  she  went 
so  far  as  to  don  the  uniform,  and  in  a  poke  bon- 
net, with  a  tambourine,  she  shared  the  spectacular 
services  of  the  strange  people  with  whom  she  had 
chosen  to  ally  herself. 

In  due  course  she  passed  this  stage,  and  reached 
a  more  thoughtful  one,  whereon,  in  fact,  she  per- 
manently remained.  Her  intelligence,  her  energies, 
and  her  fortune  she  gave  over  solidly  to  the  prac- 
tical work  of  the  sincere  and  dedicated  sect  whose 
simple  principles  of  Christian  faith  had  enlisted 
her  allegiance. 

But  her  time,  as  much  of  it  as  he  chose  to  com- 
mand, the  remodeled  wife  gave  to  her  husband. 
Unbelievable  as  it  would  have  seemed,  she  became, 
in  a  word,  a  home-loving  woman.  No  decadent 
fiction  would  find  material  now  in  Douce  Marriot. 
She  remains  to  this  day  an  unimpeachable  wife. 
This  plain  and  prosaic  role  she  fills  with  an  ease 
not  uncommon  among  women  of  pleasure  who 
have  renounced  their  follies  before  age  has  com- 
pelled them  to. 

"People  say  she's  got  religion,"  said  Nannie 
once  to  Mrs,  Dane,  "At  first  everybody  laughed. 

219 


THOUGH    LIFE   US   DO   PART 

Now  nobody  does.  Whatever  you  call  it,  she's  got 
something,  and  it's  something  you  can't  laugh  at 
if  you  want  to." 

"  Who  should  want  to  ?  "  replied  Mrs.  Dane. 
But  she  changed  the  subject  proudly.  Nannie  had 
noticed  that  Mrs.  Dane  never  spoke  of  Douce 
Marriot.  Nannie  took  this  to  be  a  sign  of  breeding 
in  her  finely  reared  friend.  She  slid  from  the  topic 
gradually,  herself  moved  by  a  delicacy  partly  nat- 
ural and  partly  acquired  from  this  acquaintance 
which  was  the  romance  of  Nannie's  saddened  life. 

"  At  all  events,  there  's  no  doubt  of  one  thing, 
—  it  was  Dr.  Royal  who  cured  her.  She  would 
have  died  but  for  his  happening  to  be  there  that 
day.  You  see,  he  practices  differently  —  not  the 
old  way.  He  does  n't  drug  people  to  death ;  he 
gives  nature  a  chance,  anyhow.  You  know  Father 
says:  'When  you  say  a  thing's  Nature,  you  've 
touched  a  great  subject.'"  With  filial  respect, 
Nannie  evolved  Solomon  into  high-school  gram- 
mar. "He  has  helped  Father  —  you  wouldn't  be- 
lieve how  much.  Father  thinks  so  much  of  Dr. 
Royal  already — more  than  of  anybody,  any  doctor 
since  —  " 

Nannie's  sentence  broke  awkwardly,  and  the 
girl  could  have  cried  at  her  faux  pas;  but  Mrs. 
Dane  quickly  set  her  at  ease  with  the  grave  smile 
of  one  who  has,  in  some  sense  not  shared   by 

220 


THOUGH    LIFE   US   DO   PART 

others,  or  for  some  reason  unknown  to  others, 
become  mistress  of  her  sorrow. 

"  I  know  how  fond  your  father  was  of  Dr.  Dane. 
But  if  this  new  person  can  help  him,  this  —  what 
did  you  call  him  ?  If  this  Dr.  Prince  can  relieve 
him  any  —  " 

"  His  name  is  Dr.  Royal,"  said  Nannie,  with 
a  glaze  of  severity.  "  Why,  everybody  knows.  He 
is  getting  a  great  deal  of  practice.  You  wouldn't 
believe  how  popular  he  is  already.  I  must  say  I 
think  his  being  cast  up  at  our  feet  that  way  had 
something  to  do  with  it.  Everybody  in  Balsam 
loves  a  shipwrecked  man." 

"  Oh,  is  there  really  anything  in  that  story  ?  " 
asked  Carolyn,  absently.  "Are  they  quite  sure? 
It  never  seemed  to  me  very  probable." 

"  Ask  Mr.  Hart,"  returned  Nannie.  "  He  knows. 
Why,  I  tell  you  everybody  knows.  There  is  no 
possible  doubt  about  it.  This  is  the  man.  He  went 
somewhere,  after  he  left  the  hospital,  and  got  well. 
Why  he  should  turn  up  and  settle  here —  He 
says  it 's  because  we  saved  his  life.  He  is  n't  the 
sort  of  man  you  ask  questions  of.  His  leg  didn't 
set  very  well.  Have  n't  you  noticed  how  lame 
he  is  ? " 

"  I  have  never  noticed  anything  about  him," 
answered  Mrs.  Dane,  wearily.  "  I  have  never  seen 
him  that  I    know  of  —  unless  —  if  there  is  any- 

221 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

thing  in  this  dramatic  story — that  one  night 
when  Clyde  saved  him.  .  .  .  Has  Clyde  seen  him?" 
she  demanded  suddenly. 

"  I  don't  think  so.  No,  I  'm  pretty  sure  not.  .  .  . 
Mrs.  Dane  ?  "  said  Nannie,  abruptly.  "  What  do 
you  suppose  I  'm  going  on  this  way  for  about  the 
new  doctor  ?  You  know  I  don't  gossip,  don't  you  ? 
I  've  had  enough  of  that,  have  n't  I  ?  Has  it  oc- 
curred to  you  to  wonder  what  I  am  talking  about 
Dr.  Royal  for?" 

Carolyn  shook  her  head  indifferently.  She  found 
Nannie,  for  once,  a  little  tiresome  that  day.  It  was 
a  July  day,  and  the  two  young  women  were  sitting 
on  the  cottage  piazza  screened  from  the  street 
by  drapery  of  nasturtiums.  Mrs.  Dane  was  darn- 
ing little  blue  stockings  for  Joyce,  and  the  boy 
himself  was  playing  with  the  collie  on  the  grass. 

"Geetupl  Geetup!  Scat!  Shoo!  Scat!  Why 
don't  you  geet  up  ?  "  screamed  Joyce,  shrilly.  He 
flung  a  handful  of  pebbles  at  a  passing  horse,  and 
startled  the  creature,  who  shied.  Then  Clyde 
barked  at  the  horse  and  leaped  upon  it,  biting  at 
its  nose. 

"  There  he  goes,"  observed  Nannie.  She  pushed 
aside  the  green  and  yellow,  and  looked  out.  "  That 
is  Dr.  Royal.  There  he  goes  this  minute." 

"  I  am  sure  I  never  saw  him  before,"  replied  Mrs. 
Dane,  laying  down  the  little  stocking  to  glance. 

222 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

"  That  man —  on  the  rocks  —  but  then  I  should  n't 
know  him,  either.  All  I  saw  was  —  let  us  forget 
it.  It  was  a  dreadful  sight !  " 

"Shoo!  Shoo  !"screamed  the  boy.  "Scat!  Shoo! 
Scat!  Geet  up!  Geet  on!  Nobody's  sick  in  this 
house  !  Nobody  wants  you  here  !  " 

"  The  truth  is,"  observed  Nannie,  boldly, "  I  want 
you  to  do  something.  I  want  you  to  do  something 
to  help  us  —  Father  and  me  —  and  Dr.  Royal.  I 
want  you  to  rent  him  ...  I  mean  Dr.  Dane's  — 
that  is,  your  office." 

"  Be  so  good  as  to  explain  yourself."  Mrs.  Dane 
brushed  the  little  blue  stocking  off  her  lap  with  a 
touch  of  hauteur,  at  which  the  village  girl  winced 
sensitively,  but  she  persisted. 

"  Old  John  Tobey's  is  no  place  for  him ;  he  is 
very  uncomfortable  there,  and  Father  wants  him 
in  the  house.  He  has  set  his  heart  on  it,  the  way 
he  did  with  Doctor  —  before.  He  says  he  wants  a 
doctor  handy.  The  trouble  is,  we  have  rented  the 
old  office  to  the  new  dentist.  We  have  promised 
it  for  a  year,  and  there  we  are.  We  can  do  all  the 
rest  of  it.  We  can  take  Dr.  Royal  for  a  mealer. 
He  can  have  that  bedroom  off  of  Father's.  We 
haven't  an  inch  of  office  room  for  him  under  our 
roof,  anyhow  you  can  fix  it.  I  thought  perhaps 
to  help  Father  —  to  please  me  — and  then,  Mrs. 
Dane,"   added   Nannie,  timidly,   "he   could  pay 

223 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

you  something,  the  market  value  of  the  room.  I 
thought  perhaps  —  " 

"  I  thank  you,  Nannie,"  said  Carolyn,  more  gently. 
"  I  will  consider  it.  I  will  ask  Mr.  Hart." 

"  If  you  did,"  retorted  Nannie,  "he  wouldn't  let 
you  do  it." 

"  But  if  I  should  agree  to  do  it,"  argued  Mrs. 
Dane, "  if  I  should  agree  to  do  it  first?  Come  again 
to-morrow,  Nannie.  I  will  think  it  over.  Tell  your 
father  I  will  consider  it  very  seriously." 

That  evening  she  took  her  little  boy  and  duti- 
fully went  to  her  cousin's  house.  She  made  the 
short  cut  across  the  lawns  of  her  old  home  (now 
occupied  by  summer  strangers),  and  saw  from  a 
distance  that  Mr.  Hart  was  walking  towards  her. 
The  three  met  midway  of  the  iron  bridge  —  Caro- 
lyn clinging  to  the  child,  with  her  arm  around 
him. 

"  He  is  afraid  of  it,"  she  pleaded,  looking  down 
into  the  chasm.  "  I  used  to  love  it  when  I  was  his 
age.  But  Joyce  is  not  like  me." 

Sterling  Hart  lifted  the  little  fellow  and  carried 
him  over.  The  preacher  had  his  happiest  look. 
His  face  was  still  and  shining. 

"  You  honor  me,  Cousin  Carolyn,"  he  said.  "  I 
was  on  my  way  to  you.  But  this  is  better.  This 
pleases  me.  Will  you  go  into  the  house  ?  Or  is 
the  piazza  cooler  ?  " 

224 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 


"  I  don't  care,"  said  Carolyn,  uncomfortably.  "  I 
have  only  come  to  tell  you  something.  It  will  not 
take  long." 

They  passed  into  the  large,  lonely  house.  He 
led  her  into  his  study  among  his  books. 

"  Cousin  Sterling,"  began  Cara,  without  looking 
at  him,  "  I  can't  go  on  this  way  any  longer.  I  don't 
know  much  about  business,  —  I  never  was  brought 
up  to  understand  those  things,  —  but  I  am  sure 
there  was  n't  enough  left  of  my  property,  after  my 
father's  —  there  can't  be  enough  to  support  us. 
Don't  think  I  don't  guess  what  you  have  done, 
all  you  have  been,  how  generous,  how  chivalrous. 
Cousin  Sterling !  Cousin  Sterling !  I  would  rather 
die  than  hurt  your  feelings,  but  I  cannot  go  on 
like  this.  I  must  do  something,  —  I  must  support 
myself  and  my  child.  I  am  going  to  teach  draw- 
ing. Nannie  is  getting  me  up  a  class.  They  call  it 
an  Art  School !  "  One  swift,  mocking  smile  went 
up  whimsically  from  her  sad  face  to  the  preacher's 
listening  one. 

"  And  I  am  going  to  be  visiting  housekeeper 
for  some — for  some  of  my  old  friends.  An  hour 
a  morning  for  each  house,  you  know.  When  I  get 
used  to  it,  that  will  be  as  easy  as  swimming.  That 
was  Mrs.  Marriot's  idea.  I  have  quite  a  waiting  list 
already.  You  did  not  think  it  would  come  to  this 
when  you  converted  her,  did  you  ? " 

225 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

But  the  preacher  would  not  smile.  A  frowning 
silence  answered  her. 

"  That  is  n't  all,"  added  Carolyn,  quite  distinctly. 
"  I  have  rented  one  of  my  rooms.  I  have  rented 
my  husband's  office  to  this  new  person,  this  Dr. 
Royal.  He  is  to  live  at  Solomon  Hops's,"  she 
went  on  timidly,  for  she  was  frightened  at  the  dis- 
pleasure on  her  cousin's  commanding  face.  "  He 
will  take  his  meals  there,  and  he  will  sleep  there. 
This  is  only  for  office  hours,  and,  you  see,  on  ac- 
count of  the  dentist,  and  poor  Solomon  can't  live 
without  a  doctor  in  the  house,  —  and  he  offers  a 
very  good  rent,  —  and  it  pleases  Nannie  —  "  she 
floundered  helplessly,  and  went  over  her  depth  in 
her  broken  words. 

"  I  can't  have  this,"  cried  Sterling  Hart.  "  I  can- 
not have  it ! "  He  rose  to  his  great  height,  and 
stood  against  the  background  of  his  books.  The 
quiet,  the  shelter,  the  thoughtfulness  of  the  room, 
its  familiar  atmosphere  of  ease  and  dignity,  for 
a  moment  overcame  her,  and  she  lifted  to  her 
cousin  a  piteous,  homesick  smile.  He  stretched 
out  his  arms. 

"See!  "he  said,  "they  are  strong  enough  to 
carry  it  all." 

But  she  shook  her  head,  and  weeping,  left  him. 
He  lifted  the  child,  and  in  a  silence  that  neither 
broke,  walked  beside  her  across  the  iron  bridge, 

226 


THOUGH   LIFE   US  DO   PART 

which,  still  as  ever,  spanned  the  gulf  between 
himself  and  her. 

Even  the  boy  did  not  talk.  His  respect  for  the 
ravine  was  too  great.  He  shut  his  eyes  that  he 
might  not  see  it,  and  cuddled  on  the  preachers 
neck,  his  little  head  curled  like  a  Maltese  spaniel's 
beneath  a  master's  chin.  Joyce  was  always  at  his 
best  and  prettiest  with  Mr.  Hart.  The  elf  or  the 
imp  went  out  of  him,  and  the  Murillo  cherub 
came  in.  The  childless  man  liked  the  fatherless, 
unruly  little  fellow,  and  a  big,  warm  hand  patted 
him  all  the  way  across  the  iron  bridge. 

"  Mum  —  Mumma,"  suggested  Joyce,  when  he 
had  said  his  prayers  that  night,  "  if  I  were  God,  I  'd 
be  like  Mr.  Cousin  Sterling  Hart.  I  ain't  God," 
added  the  boy,  argumentatively.  "  I  know  ain't 's 
bad  grammar.  You  don't  need  to  tell  me  rings  I 
know.  Say,  Mum  —  Mumma,  doesn't  God  ever 
talk  bad  grammar  ?  I  should  fink  —  why,  I  should 
fink  He  'd  do  it  zhust  for  fun.  If  I  were  God,  you 
bet  I  'd  talk  bad  grammar.  I  'd  do  it  every  Sunday, 
after  shurch,  Mumma." 

Dr.  Royal  came  slowly  up  the  path  to  the  cot- 
tage. He  had  walked,  it  seemed,  from  Solomon's, 
and  was  evidently  tired.  The  collie  followed  him, 
sniffing  at  his  heels.  Mrs.  Dane  had  not  wit- 
nessed the  meeting  between  the  man  and  the  doe, 

227 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

which  occurred  at  a  little  distance  from  the  house; 
but  it  struck  her  as  doubtful  whether  Clyde  recog- 
nized in  the  new  lodger  the  derelict  whom  he  had 
saved  from  the  sea.  The  dog  looked  perplexed  and 
excited,  a  trifle  sullen.  He  stood  with  one  ear  up 
and  one  ear  down,  and  studied  the  stranger,  while 
Kathleen  admitted  him  cordially.  Afterwards 
Clyde  came  to  the  mistress,  and  said  something 
which  she  did  not  understand. 

Mrs.  Dane  was  sitting  in  the  office  in  her 
black  dress.  She  rose  as  the  physician  entered, 
and  greeted  him  with  that  marked  graciousness 
which  one  assumes  to  conceal  a  reluctant  wel- 
come. She  was  pale  about  the  mouth,  but  she  had 
her  charming  manner.  The  physician  observed 
her  keenly. 

"  You  are  very  good  to  consider  this  matter," 
he  began  at  once.  "  Pray  believe  that  I  appreciate 
your  hospitality." 

"  Let  us  call  things  by  their  true  names  from 
the  first,"  replied  Mrs.  Dane,  smiling  cautiously. 
"  It  is  not  hospitality.  It  is  business.  You  need  an 
office,  and  I  —  "     She  stopped. 

"  You  are  perfectly  right,  Madam,"  answered 
Dr.  Royal,  quickly.  "We  will  call  everything  by 
its  true  name  —  if  you  do  me  the  honor  to  admit 
me  as  your  tenant.  It  is  a  pleasant  room."  He 
looked  about  it,  sighing  contentedly.    "  A    man 

228 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

could  not  ask  a  more  homelike  place  to — to  do 
good  work  in.  The  thing  I  fear  most  is  that  the 
calls  of  patients  may  annoy  you.  Not  that  I  have 
so  very  many  yet.  But  I  should  be  quite  candid 
with  you.  Their  number  is  increasing.  You  might 
find  their  presence  troublesome." 

"On  the  contrary,"  replied  Mrs.  Dane,  with  a 
formal  bow,  "  I  am  accustomed  to  that.  I  am  the 
widow  of  a  physician,  you  remember." 

"  So,"  he  said,  "  I  have  been  told." 

Carolyn,  who  had  up  to  this  regarded  the  man 
as  one  looks  without  seeing,  through  the  film  of 
the  emotion  and  the  reluctance  that  contended 
within  her  at  the  admission  of  a  stranger  to  her 
home,  now  concentrated  her  gaze  upon  him  studi- 
ously. She  saw  a  middle-aged  or  elderly  man  as 
gray  as  he  at  whom  she  had  shuddered  when  he 
was  laid,  the  mangled  prey  of  the  hurricane,  upon 
the  dead  leaves  at  her  feet.  She  saw  a  face  bearded 
as  white  as  its  hair,  and  blasted  by  suffering ; 
rather  a  gentle  face,  appealing,  and  sad.  She  was 
prepared  to  believe  the  story  of  his  shipwreck 
when  she  perceived  how  marred  and  scarred  his 
countenance  was.  He  seemed  to  have  been  beaten 
or  shattered  by  physical  disaster.  He  was,  it  ap- 
peared, incurably  lame,  and  limped  at  every  step; 
not  painfully,  but  patiently.  Nothing  about  him 
was,  so  far,  repulsive  to  her.  But  his  voice — and 

229 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

Carolyn  was  sensitive  to  voices  —  was  scarcely 
less  than  that.  It  was  hoarse,  and  grated  upon  her 
taste,  if  not  her  nerves.  She  made  up  her  mind 
before  he  had  spoken  six  words  that  she  did  not 
like  it. 

She  made  as  short  work  as  she  could  of  the 
business  details  necessary  to  the  occasion,  and  as 
soon  as  possible  she  rose  to  put  an  end  to  the  in- 
terview. The  lame  doctor  stood  leaning  on  his 
cane,  and  she  could  not  help  thinking  that  he  met 
the  situation  gently,  timidly,  in  fact,  as  if  he  were 
unduly  conscious  of  the  trouble  that  he  was  about 
to  make  her.  He  gave  the  impression  at  that  first 
hour  that  he  was  considerate  of  her,  that  he  was 
not  absorbed  in  his  own  interests,  that  he  was 
capable  of  appreciating  her  position  and  respecting 
it,  as  no  vulgar  man  could  do. 

"  He  is  a  gentleman,"  she  thought.  At  that  in- 
stant the  little  boy  pounced  into  the  office,  and 
backed  up  against  her  to  regard  the  stranger,  who 
glanced  at  him  politely,  —  scarcely  more  than  that, 
—  indifferently  asking:  — 

"  And  his  name,  Madam?  " 

"Joyce," replied  the  mother;  "shake  hands  with 
Dr.  Royal." 

Joyce  debated  obedience  to  this  command  with 
a  silent  scowl,  but  decided  to  extend  a  little  criti- 
cal hand.  This  Dr.  Royal  took  ceremoniously,  as 

230 


THOUGH   LIFE   US  DO   PART 

if  they  had  been  two  gentlemen,  and  dropped  it 
slowly. 

"  When  may  I  come  ? "  he  asked,  looking  around 
the  office.  He  had  already  noticed  the  bookcases, 
filled  with  medical  works,  well  bound  and  abun- 
dant ;  and  he  had  observed  that  the  glass  doors 
covering  them  were  locked. 

"Would  you  like  the  bookcases  removed?" 
suggested  Mrs.  Dane. 

"  Thank  you,  —  no.  My  library  is  not  so  large. 
It  will  occupy  but  little  space." 

Carolyn  was  silent.  Common  kindliness  and 
courtesy  prompted  her  to  offer  the  use  of  her  hus- 
band's library  to  the  physician  lodger.  But  she  did 
not  do  it.  Her  revolt  at  the  situation  in  which  she 
had  placed  herself  was  more  acute  than  she  had 
foreseen,  and  she  felt  it  to  be  impossible  to  see 
Chanceford's  books  in  the  man's  hand. 

"  When  do  you  wish  to  come  ? "  she  asked,  re- 
verting to  his  unanswered  question. 

"  At  once.  This  evening,  —  this  afternoon,  — 
if  I  may.  Would  that  inconvenience  you  ? " 

Dr.  Royal  put  the  point  half  urgently,  half  tim- 
idly, as  if  it  really  mattered  to  him  more  than  he 
found  it  chivalrous  to  say. 

11  No,"  said  Mrs.  Dane,  hesitating  perceptibly. 
11  On  the  whole,  I  don't  know  that  it  makes  any 
difference.  You  might  as  well  come  to-day."  If 

231 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

her  tone  said,  "  And  have  it  over  with,"  her  words 
did  not.  The  lodger  bowed  without  reply,  and 
took  his  hat. 

In  the  afternoon,  Dr.  Royals  belongings  pre- 
ceded him.  These  proved  to  be  few,  and  easily 
bestowed,  —  a  box  of  books,  no  more  than  one ; 
his  instruments  and  medicines;  a  smoking-coat 
and  cap ;  an  extra  raglan  and  pair  of  rubbers,  for 
wet  weather ;  trifles  indicating  that  the  man  was 
obliged  to  be  careful  of  his  health.  Just  before 
dark  he  followed  his  scanty  property.  Carolyn 
winced  when  she  heard  the  latch-key  turn  in  his 
hand.  She  sat  still  and  did  not  present  herself. 
But  the  collie  did,  and  the  boy.  Barking  and  laugh- 
ing, the  two  ran  to  greet  the  stranger's  incoming 
step.  Clyde  received  the  doctor  with  respect,  or 
even  cordiality,  and  Joyce  played  about  the  office 
until  his  mother  called  him  away.  She  went  up- 
stairs to  put  the  child  to  bed,  and  remained  some 
time  in  the  little  fellow's  room.  She  tried  not  to 
hear  the  feet  of  the  stranger  moving  about  her 
husband's  office,  but  his  steps  pursued  her  shrink- 
ing ears.  Gradually  she  became  accustomed  to  the 
sound  as  one  does  to  a  dull  toothache.  A  few  taps 
from  a  hammer  indicated  that  Dr.  Royal  was  nail- 
ing up  his  sign  above  her  cottage  door. 

"  Mumma,"  said  Joyce,  sleepily,  "  did  God  make 
Dr.  Royal  ? " 

232 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

"  Joyce,  how  many  times  must  I  tell  you  ?  You 
should  not  be  always  talking  about  God.  Yes,  I 
suppose  He  did." 

"  I  should  fink,"  argued  Joyce,  "  that  God 
would  n't  trouble  himself  to  make  such  a  sorry- 
fool  man." 

"  Such  a  what  ?  Oh,  sorrowful." 

"  I  said  '  sorryfool,'  did  n't  I  ?  Say,  Mumma, 
could  God  make  a  green  pig  if  He  wanted  to  ? 
Mumma !  Could  He  make  a  blue  kitty  with  a  pink 
tail  and  a  purple  —  purple  —  purp  —  " 

The  sketch  of  this  artistic  animal  lapsed  slowly, 
and  silence  received  it  on  her  uncritical  canvas. 
When  the  boy  was  quite  asleep,  Mrs.  Dane  came 
downstairs.  She  really  had  no  excuse  for  doing 
otherwise.  The  office  door  was  open,  and  the 
warmth  of  its  lights  melted  across  the  hall.  As 
she  crossed  the  glimmer,  in  her  black  dress,  the 
doctor  came  out  and  spoke  to  her. 

"  I  am  going  now.  Shall  I  put  out  the  gas,  or 
would  you  like  to  have  me  leave  it  for  a  while  ?  I 
thought  perhaps  you  might —  Pray  feel  at  lib- 
erty to  occupy  the  room  when  I  am  not  in  it.  I 
should  be  more  comfortable.  I  do  not  like  to  feel 
that  I  am  turning  you  out  —  I  should  take  it  as  a 
courtesy." 

"  Not  on  any  account,"  quickly  answered  Mrs. 
Dane.  "  I  thank  you,  but  the  room  is  yours." 

233 


THOUGH   LIFE  US   DO    PART 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  Dr.  Royal.  "  I  will  bid  you 
good-night." 

He  bowed,  and  shut  the  cottage  door.  Carolyn 
remained  alone  in  the  living-room.  Pugnaciously 
she  said  to  herself,  "  I  will  not  step  into  the  office, 
I  will  not  do  it."  In  an  agitation  of  which  she 
felt  ashamed,  she  ran  out  of  the  front  door,  and 
sat  down  on  the  piazza  behind  the  nasturtiums. 
It  seemed  to  her  as  if  she  could  not  bear  the  roof 
over  her  head.  She  laid  her  burning  cheek  upon 
the  arm  of  her  piazza  chair,  and  so,  seeing  no- 
thing, started  when  a  voice  from  the  summer 
darkness  said :  — 

"  Has  that  man  gone  ?  " 

"Oh,  Cousin  Sterling!"  Half  laughing,  half 
crying,  she  put  out  her  hands  impulsively,  and 
the  preacher  gravely  closed  his  own  about  them 
both. 

"  I  never  was  so  glad  to  see  you ! "  pleaded 
Carolyn.  "  Yes,  Dr.  Royal  has  gone.  Office  hours 
are  only  from  seven  to  eight.  You  see  he  will 
go  early  and  often,  like  the  American  voter.  He 
seems,"  she  added,  "  to  be  in  poor  health.  One 
cannot  help  regretting  that.  What  do  you  sup- 
pose Joyce  called  him  ?  " 

"  What  did  Joyce  call  him  ?  " 

"  A  sorryfool  man." 

"  Oh,  we  're  all  that !  Joyce  is  usually  more 
234 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

original —  Come  down  to  the  shore,"  said  the 
preacher,  "and  forget  it  all.  No?  Well,  never 
mind.  Then  I  will  stay  here." 

He  threw  his  head  back  with  a  lofty  motion  of 
his  chin  that  every  one  who  knew  him  loved. 

Carolyn  looked  affectionately  into  his  powerful, 
protecting  face. 


CHAPTER   XV 

The  point  where  a  repugnance  turns  into  an  at- 
traction is  as  hard  to  draw  as  the  water-line  in  a 
smoky  sou'wester. 

Dr.  Charles  Royal  proved  an  unimpeachable 
tenant.  With  a  tact  which  Mrs.  Dane  could  not 
overlook,  he  tried  to  intrude  on  her  as  little  as 
possible;  making  himself,  so  far  as  he  might,  a 
shadow  upon  the  walls  of  her  life.  The  hours 
which  he  spent  in  his  office  were  limited,  and  it 
was  a  considerable  time  before  he  ever  exceeded 
them.  Now  and  then,  upon  a  stormy  evening,  she 
observed  that  he  would  stay  and  smoke  after  the 
patients  had  gone.  For  this  indulgence  he  had 
asked  her  permission.  At  first  the  scent  of  tobacco 
in  her  widowed  house  had  been  painful  to  Carolyn. 
She  was  a  little  shocked  to  find  how  soon  she 
wonted  herself  to  it,  and  that,  in  fact,  it  ceased  to 
be  disagreeable  to  her. 

For  a  week  or  two  she  continued  to  wince  from 
the  click  of  the  latch-key  in  the  stranger's  hand. 
Before  she  was  in  any  sense  aware  of  it,  she  had 
begun  to  experience  in  this  trifling  sound  some- 
thing akin  to  pleasure.  Her  lonely  house  seemed 

236 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

less  desolate  to  her  for  the  presence  of  this  other 
lonely  person,  the  quiet,  unobtrusive,  busy  man. 

Mrs.  Dane  was  now  a  woman  of  business,  and 
it  may  have  been  in  part  her  preoccupation  in 
the  delight  of  becoming  a  wage-earner  that  forced 
her  out  of  the  morbid  reluctance  with  which  she 
had  received  her  lodger.  She  began,  in  a  word, 
to  view  him  and  herself  more  naturally,  and  so 
more  cheerfully.  The  physician,  whose  quiet  eye 
was  trained  to  observe  everything,  noticed  be- 
fore the  summer  was  over  a  certain  gentle  differ- 
ence in  her,  like  the  brightening  shapes  of  a  cloud 
whose  shadow  one  has  been  watching.  Once  or 
twice  he  thought  he  heard  her  singing  about  the 
house.  They  met,  of  course.  Now  and  then  they 
interchanged  a  few  words.  When  occasion  called 
for  it,  they  talked  a  little,  —  of  his  practice,  of  her 
boy,  of  affairs.  Neither  spoke  of  the  other's  pri- 
vate history ;  their  attitude  was  as  impersonal  as 
if  they  had  been  meeting  and  parting  at  some  so- 
ciety function.  Carolyn's  fine  dignity  found  itself 
matched  or  even  challenged  by  a  reserve  quite  the 
equal  of  her  own.  In  one  respect  she  allowed  her- 
self to  overstep  the  invisible  line  which  her  tact 
and  good  sense  had  drawn  between  them.  His 
delicate  health  appealed  to  her.  She  could  not  re- 
strain her  natural  sympathy  with  suffering.  She 
found  it  impossible  not  to  consider  him,  to  regard 

237 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 


his  comfort.  She  acquired  the  sense  of  responsi- 
bility which  a  warm-hearted  woman  feels  for  any 
member  of  her  household.  He  observed  that  she 
directed  her  maid  to  dry  his  overcoat  upon  a 
stormy  night.  Once,  when  he  had  a  coughing 
cold,  Kathleen  brought  him  hot  coffee ;  Mrs.  Dane 
had  noticed  that  he  drank  nothing  stronger.  One 
morning  —  he  had  been  her  tenant  for  six  weeks 
—  he  found  the  glass  doors  of  the  bookcase  con- 
taining the  medical  library  unlocked.  When  he 
called  her  attention  to  the  circumstance,  she 
said :  — 

"  Use  them.  Why  not?  I  have  begun  to  think 
that  I  was  mistaken  about  that.  The  dead  are  not 
selfish;  it  is  only  the  living.  I  am  sure  my  hus- 
band would  prefer  it.  Pray  feel  at  liberty  to  consult 
Dr.  Dane's  library  whenever  you  choose." 

Dr.  Royal  regarded  her  gently.  His  sad  eyes 
said,  "I  know  what  this  costs  you."  But  he  did 
not  speak.  He  handled  one  or  two  of  the  books 
with  the  affectionate  eagerness  of  a  struggling 
professional  man  who  finds  at  his  command  a  li- 
brary beyond  his  own  means.  She  saw  that  his 
hand  was  unsteady  as  he  returned  the  books  to 
their  shelves. 

"  You  are  kind  to  me,"  he  said. 

"  And  you  to  me,"  said  Mrs.  Dane,  impulsively. 
She  was  frightened  when  she  had  spoken  these 

238 


THOUGH  LIFE  US   DO   PART 

four  words,  and  half  ashamed  of  them.  She  turned 
away  from  him,  and  drifted  out  of  the  office  door 
like  a  flying  feeling.  As  if  it  would  help  matters 
any,  she  came  bravely  back,  and  explained  herself: 

"  I  mean — you  are  such  a  considerate  tenant. 
You  have  made  so  little  trouble.  You  never 
make  any  if  you  can  help  it.  And  you  have  been 
very  good  to  my  little  boy.  I  have  to  leave  him 
alone  so  much.  He  says  you  tell  him  stories, 
and  —  " 

"  Does  he  ?  "  interrupted  the  doctor.  "  Then  he 
tells  tales.  I  advised  him  not  to  mention  that." 

"  Thank  you  for  mending  the  blind  the  other 
day,"  proceeded  Mrs.  Dane.  "  And  the  bulkhead 
—  Kathleen  says  you  did  something  to  that.  And 
Joyce's  express  cart —  I  am  not  a  very  good  car- 
penter. And  I  am  pretty  busy  with  my  scholars 
and  my  employers.  A  great  many  things  have  to 
go  —  "  She  paused  uncomfortably. 

"  You  have  your  share  of  care,"  replied  the  doc- 
tor, quietly.  "  Will  you  permit  me  to  say  that  you 
carry  it  remarkably  well  ?  " 

"  I  thank  you,  Dr.  Royal,"  said  Mrs.  Dane,  re- 
gaining herself  and  speaking  ceremoniously.  She 
looked  very  young  in  her  widow's  dress ;  she 
had  her  sweet  expression.  The  doctor  watched  her 
with  slow,  pursuant  eyes.  But  patients  were  arriv- 
ing, and  their  complaining  voices  rose  between 

239 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

the  two.  And  now,  as  Carolyn  went  out  of  the 
door  to  her  morning's  work,  she  met  her  cousin 
coming  in. 

"  Where  to-day  ?  "  he  asked  happily,  falling  into 
step  beside  her.  "  Let  me  go,  too  —  a  little  way." 

"  Yes,"  said  Carolyn,  dreamily.  "  You  can  walk 
with  me  —  a  little  way." 

Then  she  began  to  chat  merrily  enough.  "  I 
have  a  servant  to  dismiss  for  Tracie  Benton's 
mother.  And  a  Mab  Miller  luncheon  to  oversee. 
And  my  '  Art  School '  has  an  exhibition  this  after- 
noon. '  Picture  it !  Think  of  it ! '  I  am  as  busy  as 
a  miracle.     Sometimes  I  think  I  am  a  miracle." 

"  When  you  are  tired  of  the  miraculous,  let  me 
know,"  said  Sterling  Hart.  He  looked  down  from 
his  great  height  with  a  grave,  composed  smile. 
But  his  eyes  were  not  composed.  He  had  never 
been  reconciled,  as  the  phrase  goes,  to  Carolyn's 
stubborn  venture  at  the  game  of  self-support.  The 
Art  School  and  the  play  at  keeping  house  for 
East  Shore  society  he  could  tolerate  if  he  must. 
The  tenant  he  had  never  forgiven.  Carolyn  per- 
ceived that  he  experienced  unprecedented  respon- 
sibilities in  her  behalf.  He  made  it  natural  to  see 
her  frequently — more  often  than  ever  in  her  life. 
She  felt  shielded  and  beloved  by  her  kinsman. 
When  she  was  with  him  he  seemed  to  bound  the 
map  of  her  life.  She  rejoiced  in  his  familiar  per- 

240 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

sonality,  in  his  tried  character,  in  his  strong,  safe 
qualities.  The  stranger  within  her  gates  passed 
easily  out  of  her  mind.  If  his  sad  eyes,  his  appeal- 
ing smile,  remained  with  her,  it  was  on  the  level 
of  that  subconsciousness  where  a  lonely  woman 
thrusts  the  least  vital,  but  possibly  the  most  dan- 
gerous, of  the  conflicting  affections  that  beset  her 
widowed  life.  Carolyn  walked  on  happily  with 
Sterling  Hart.  His  good  spirits,  his  good  health, 
his  good  fortune,  rested  her. 

"  Dear  Cousin  Sterling ! "  she  said. "  Nobody  ever 
has  to  feel  sorry  for  you? 

Sterling  Hart  lowered  his  luminous  eyes  upon 
her.  He  did  not  find  it  necessary  to  reply.  She 
felt,  without  seeing,  that  proud  upward  motion  of 
his  chin  which  she  had  never  known  in  any  other 
person.  It  intensified  the  antique  impression  of 
his  Roman  head  and  face,  with  their  multiple, 
modern  waves  of  feeling.  He  seemed  to  her — for 
he  had  always  seemed  to  her  —  as  much  stronger 
as  he  was  taller  than  other  men  ;  as  much  nobler  as 
he  was  more  self-commanded.  Once  she  had  seen 
him  possessed  by  an  angel's  anger.  Why  should 
she  recall  it  now,  —  in  this  mystical,  magical  sum- 
mer morning  ?  There  was  an  August  fog,  a  great 
and  glamorous  shining,  half  gold,  half  silver,  and 
all  glory.  As  he  towered  against  the  sea-line,  this 
rayed  about  him,  like  the  aureola  of  some  mighty, 

241 


THOUGH   LIFE  US   DO   PART 

manly  saint.  Yet  once  she  had  seen  him  look  as 
if  he  could  have  crushed  a  man  by  a  blow  of  his 
clenched  hand.  He  had  come  unexpectedly  upon 
her  husband  in  one  of  Chanceford  Dane's  dis- 
graced hours,  and  stood  looking  at  the  pitiable 
figure  —  as  he  did.  He  had  an  angel's  beauty,  but 
all  an  angel's  scorn. 

The  mist  in  Carolyn's  eyes  grew  thicker  than 
the  shining  fog. 

"  Poor  Chanceford  !  "  she  thought.  "  Oh,  poor 
Chanceford ! " 

In  the  revolution  of  an  instant,  "  all  men  beside 
him  were  but  shadows."  He  alone  had  substance 
who  had  taken  the  first  kiss  from  her  young  lips. 
That  day  she  went  to  the  village  churchyard,  and 
carried  flowers  from  her  cottage  garden  to  Dane's 
rather  lonely  grave.  She  knelt  beside  it  in  a  pas- 
sion of  penitence.  Ever  since  what  might  be  called 
the  death-bed  confession  of  Douce  Marriot,  Carolyn 
had  felt  as  if  the  attitudes  had  been  reversed  be- 
tween herself  and  her  husband's  ghost.  Whatever 
her  wrongs,  she  now  regarded  his  as  deeper.  She 
sensitively  arraigned  herself  that  she  had  given 
the  natural  interpretation  to  his  proud  and  unfor- 
tunate silence.  At  times  she  broke  her  heart  over 
the  injustice  which  she  had  so  blamelessly  done 
him.  Her  regret  was  a  brimming  reservoir  which 
answered  to  every  stir  in  the  sluice  of  feeling.  At 

242 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO    PART 

every  crevice  her  sorrow  overflowed  in  self-accu- 
sation. It  needed  but  a  touch,  a  jar,  to  start  the 
surging  current.  Swept  away  by  it  and  into  it, 
she  knelt  that  day  and  rededicated  herself  —  any 
loving  and  grieving  woman  knows  how — to  the 
memory  of  her  dead. 

When  she  rose  from  her  knees  she  perceived 
that  some  one  was  entering  the  churchyard  by  the 
avenue  which  she  must  pass  to  leave  it. 

In  her  thin  black  dress,  with  its  muslin  finish  at 
throat  and  wrists,  with  her  wistful  face,  her  pale 
coloring,  her  wearily  folded  hands,  she  stood  as  if 
she  had  been  carved  upon  the  marble  that  marked 
her  husband's  grave  —  a  statue  of  Grief  Perplexed. 
Her  uneasiness  did  not  diminish  when  she  saw 
who  it  was  that  she  must  greet  and  pass.  Dr. 
Royal  had  uncovered  his  gray  head.  He  gave  no 
other  sign  that  he  was  conscious  of  her  presence, 
and  continued  his  stroll  through  the  churchyard 
by  another  way. 

That  evening  at  office  hours  Carolyn  was  not 
to  be  seen.  Patients  were  many,  and  the  doorbell 
rang  steadily.  When  they  had  all  gone,  Joyce  and 
Clyde  pranced  in  to  play  with  the  doctor.  But 
Mrs.  Dane  remained  upstairs.  If  she  listened  for 
the  uneven  step  of  her  lodger,  she  gave  no  sign. 
His  kind,  hoarse  voice  parleyed  with  the  boy,  and 
cherished  the  dog;  absently,  she   thought.   She 

243 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

crept  down  the  back  stairs,  being  minded,  she 
could  hardly  have  told  why,  to  escape  him.  She 
stepped  into  the  living-room,  thinking  that  she 
would  light  the  gas,  but  did  not  light  it,  and  sat 
down  in  the  dark,  irresolute.  The  office  door  was 
open.  Within  its  plaque  of  light  she  saw  the  man, 
the  child,  and  the  dog,  —  each  quiet,  and  all  con- 
tent. The  collie  was  asleep,  with  his  long  nose 
upon  the  doctor's  foot.  But  Joyce  —  where  was 
the  boy  ?  At  first  she  doubted  the  evidence  of  her 
optic  nerve,  and  smote  the  mist  from  her  smart- 
ing eyes  to  see,  and  see  again,  the  curling  child 
cuddled  beneath  a  white  beard  in  the  stranger's 
neck ;  like  a  love  into  a  cloud  or  mantle  ;  a  little 
melting  shape  that  trusted  where  she  questioned, 
and  clung  when  she  rebuffed. 

In  the  dark  there,  unseen,  and  now  unseeing, 
her  face  fell  into  her  hands.  Against  every  fibre 
of  her  nature,  every  sinew  of  her  will,  she  found 
herself  dragged  by  the  undertow  of  a  mysterious 
attraction.  How  should  a  high-minded  woman 
experience  the  tides  that  dashed  her  feeling  to 
and  fro  ?  She  sat  drowned  in  the  crimson  of  her 
self-scorn.  For  there  are  three  tidal  waves  on  the 
ocean  of  widowhood.  If  the  first  is  loneliness  and 
the  second  despairing  doubt,  the  third  is  disloyalty 
to  the  dead. 

Carolyn  felt  that  she  was  in  the  breakers  of  her 
244 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

own  being.  She  called  upon  her  husband's  name 
and  memory  as  she  would  have  called  upon  the 
power  of  God  if  she  had  been  a  drowning  woman. 

"Chanceford!  Chanceford!  Can't  you  help 
me?" 

The  click  of  the  front-door  latch  interrupted 
this  prayer  of  the  wife.  When  she  looked,  the 
office  was  empty.  Clyde  was  fumbling  in  her  neck 
with  his  cold  nose,  and  her  little  boy  —  less  keen 
of  divination  than  the  dog  —  stood  calling  for  her 
in  the  hall.  She  heard  the  tired  step  of  the  lame 
doctor  limping  down  the  path. 

Sterling  Hart  was  uneasy.  Himself  he  would 
have  flung  to  any  fate  for  Cara's  sake.  He  would 
have  effaced  himself  from  her  life  if  that  could 
have  purchased  her  happiness.  To  give  her  joy  he 
would  have  paid  any  price  in  personal  suffering. 
His  feeling  was  as  simple  as  Christianity,  whose 
other  name  is  sacrifice.  It  could  hardly  be  said 
that  personal  hope  entered  very  much  into  his 
consciousness  at  this  or  any  other  time;  although, 
perhaps,  more  at  this  than  any  other.  But  that  he 
was  distinctly  uneasy  he  did  not  deny  to  himself. 
His  cousin's  acquaintance  with  the  physician,  her 
tenant,  troubled  him. 

Any  persistent  idea  is  a  stream  which  every- 
thing tends  to  increase.  Rivulets  of  impressions 

245 


THOUGH    LIFE   US   DO   PART 

from  one  source  or  another  ran  into  the  preacher's 
prevailing  anxiety  for  Carolyn.  One  September 
day  he  saw  Mrs.  Marriot  driving  a  Salvation  Army 
lassie  to  the  train,  and  on  the  way  home  she  over- 
took him,  beckoning. 

"  Is  Mrs.  Dane  going  to  marry  the  new  doc- 
tor?" she  asked  point-blank.  "He  is  a  brilliant 
fellow,  and  he  saved  my  life.  I  am  under  obliga- 
tions to  him  that  one  can  never  overlook ;  and  it 
is  plainly  not  my  business,  Mr.  Hart.  But — " 

"  But  what  ?  "  demanded  the  preacher. 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  Douce  Marriot.  "  That 's 
just  it  —  I  dorit  know  but  what." 

In  October  Nannie  Hops  came  on  some  trifling 
pretext  to  the  preacher's  house.  The  girl  seemed 
troubled,  and  there  was  a  tangle  in  her  pretty 
brows. 

"  Father  returns  the  magazines,"  she  began. 
"  He  thanks  you,  Mr.  Hart.  Mrs.  Dane  and  I  car- 
ried some  to  the  Art  School  to  show  the  pictures. 
Mr.  Hart,  there  's  something  I  want  to  say  to  you. 
It  is  about  Mrs.  Dane." 

"  Go  on,"  said  the  preacher,  for  Nannie  stopped. 

"If  she  should  marry  Dr.  Royal  —  "faltered 
Nannie.  "You  know  how  much  we  think  of  Dr. 
Royal,  don't  you  ?  You  won't  take  me  the  wrong 
way,  will  you  ?  I — why,  I  admire  Dr.  Royal ! "  cried 
Nannie,  vehemently.  "But  —  " 

246 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

"But  what?"  asked  Sterling  Hart,  as  he  had 
asked  before.  And,  as  before,  the  answer  came :  "  I 
don't  know — Mr.  Hart,  I  don  t  know.  There  are 
things  —  " 

"  What  things  ? " 

"  I  don't  know  how  to  explain  myself.  There 
seem  to  be  reasons  —  " 

"  What  reasons  ? "  persisted  the  preacher. 

"That's  just  it,"  said  Nannie.  "  If  I  could  put 
my  reasons  so  you  could  understand  them,  —  but 
I  can't  do  it.  I  don't  know  how  to  tell  you  why  I 
feel  the  way  I  do." 

"  I  think  you  ought  to  be  explicit,"  replied  Cara's 
kinsman,  frowning. 

Nannie  said  a  few  words  in  a  lowered  voice. 

"  Is  that  all  ?  "  cried  the  preacher.  He  gave  a 
large  masculine  wave  of  the  hand,  as  if  he  dis- 
missed an  unimportant  and  feminine  thought. 

"  It  is  nothing  against  Dr.  Royal ! "  repeated 
Nannie.  "  It  is  n't  the  first  thing  against  Dr. 
Royal.  But  — Mr.  Hart!  Don't  let  Mrs.  Dane 
marry  again.  Don't  let  her  marry  ##ybody.  It  — 
it 's  too  soon." 

The  preacher  stared  at  the  excited  girl;  he  had 
gone  quite  pale.  He  felt,  for  the  instant,  as  if  a 
sacred  secret,  scarcely  admitted  by  his  own  soul 
to  itself,  had  come  back  to  him  from  the  atmos- 
phere in  articulation. 

247 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO    PART 

It  proved  to  be  a  cold  winter,  and  life  in  the 
cottage  became  difficult  and  bare,  accordingly. 
All  that  remained  of  the  threadbare  nasturtium 
draperies  on  the  piazza  trellis  broke  away  under 
the  first  big  storm  like  a  valuable  old  rug  that  has 
been  put  into  a  washtub.  The  furnace  was  middle- 
aged  and  as  fretful  as  a  sick  woman.  The  plumb- 
ing was  fickle,  and  the  halls  drafty.  Kathleen  had 
the  toothache,  and  Joyce  took  cold.  The  boy's 
little  illnesses  the  doctor  treated  skillfully,  with  a 
care  amounting  to  tenderness.  To  the  assortment 
of  emotions  with  which  she  now  regarded  her  ten- 
ant, Carolyn  began  to  add  gratitude. 

Dr.  Royal  was  chronically,  ingeniously  kind. 
Too  often  she  heard  him  limp  down  the  cellar 
stairs  on  a  bitter  evening,  to  feed  or  inspect  the 
old,  cold  furnace  for  her.  Sometimes  in  the  drift- 
ing snows  she  would  find  the  lame  man  digging 
out  her  paths.  He  put  aside  her  protests  as  if  they 
had  been  snowflakes  that  he  rubbed  out  of  his 
eyes ;  quite  silently.  It  proved  difficult  to  conceal 
the  shifts  and  secrets  of  her  impoverished  house- 
hold from  him.  Nothing  escaped  his  knowledge, 
as  nothing  eluded  his  relieving  instinct.  He  be- 
gan to  seem  to  her  the  most  thoughtful  of  men. 
Over  the  disk  of  other  manly  qualities  that  she 
had  known  his  slowly  advanced;  as  an  eclipse 
slides  over  the  moon  or  the  sun.  It  was  impossi- 

248 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

ble  to  disown  the  terrible  candor  of  memory 
which  confronted  the  dead  with  the  living;  and 
unhappily  for  the  ghos.t  of  Chanceford  Dane,  mar- 
riage had  not  expiated  the  faults  of  his  careless 
nature  to  his  wife. 

Dane's  had  been  a  gay,  gregarious  nature,  debo- 
nair and  winning.  Charles  Royal  was  a  thought- 
ful man,  personally  unattractive,  and  morally  a 
magnet.  Dane  had  not  been  always  kind.  The 
doctor  had  an  undiverted  tenderness.  Dane  had 
neglected  her  when  he  felt  inclined.  Royal  had 
the  plain,  domestic  devotion  which  women  rate 
so  high  in  the  scale  of  masculine  qualities.  Dane 
had  demanded  everything,  and  given  what  he 
chose.  This  man  asked  nothing,  and  gave  her  all 
he  had  —  his  silent  homage,  his  delicate  protec- 
tion. He  had  the  attitude  of  romance  in  the  dull 
conditions  of  daily  life.  He  was  to  her  as  if  she  had 
been  the  queen  of  the  sad  earth  and  the  happy 
heaven.  Yet  it  was  impossible  for  her  to  deceive 
herself  —  she  knew  that  he  loved  her;  the  more, 
because  he  did  not  say  so.  Her  common  prudence 
and  common  sense  taught  her  that  this  man  of  an 
unknown  past,  of  an  uncertain  future,  must  not 
be  permitted  to  endear  himself  to  her.  But  her 
trembling  heart  told  her  that  she  was  approaching 
the  invisible  boundary  where  a  man  and  woman 
must  separate  or  unite.  She  recognized  the  way- 

249 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

marks  of  the  familiar  road  with  the  cautious  can- 
dor of  one  who  experiences  a  second  love,  and 
who  would  convince  herself,  if  she  could,  that  she 
was  not  disloyal  to  the  first.  Again  she  knew  the 
eternal  pang  and  the  eternal  joy  which  keep  the 
world's  heart  young. 

"  This  cannot  last,"  she  said.  "  I  must  put  an 
end  to  it."  Sometimes  she  added,  with  the  docility 
of  a  little  girl  who  lives  in  awe  of  family  traditions, 
"  Cousin  Sterling  is  perfectly  right.  It  has  got  to 
stop." 

But  nothing  stopped.  The  romance  and  the 
winter  ran  their  course.  As  Cara  sat  attentive  to 
the  rhythm  of  the  surf  upon  the  ice-bound  coast, 
it  seemed  to  her  as  if  she  listened  to  some  ancient 
saga  frosted  with  the  rapture  and  the  bitterness 
of  life;  to  some  perplexity  as  new  as  last  moon's 
phases ;  some  secret  as  inscrutable  as  to-morrow's 
fate. 

Sterling  Hart  watched  her  with  mute,  strong 
eyes.  He  came  out  frequently  from  the  city ;  so 
often  that  she  felt  the  silent  protest  of  his  presence 
against  the  current  of  her  heart.  He  observed  her 
sadly.  Less  and  less  he  argued  with  her  or  coun- 
seled her.  Once  again  he  felt  himself  rivaled  by 
the  inferior  nature.  Now,  as  before,  he  was  baffled 
by  the  magic  which  wove  its  web  around  her. 

It  will  be  well  remembered  by  his  people  and 
250 


THOUGH   LIFE  US   DO   PART 

by  the  public  that  the  Reverend  Sterling  Hart 
did  that  year  a  thing  not  very  common  in  the  pul- 
pit of  his  church,  and  without  recent  precedent 
in  his  own.  He  preached  what  is  known  in  the 
phraseology  of  moral  reform  as  a  temperance 
sermon. 

It  was  a  Sunday  evening  sermon,  after  Easter, 
in  late  April.  The  church  was  crowded  to  the 
aisles,  and  largely  filled  with  men.  It  had  been 
understood  that  the  eminent  clergyman  would 
treat  the  subject  of  the  drinking  habit,  and  a  per- 
plexed surprise  was  felt  by  the  ignorant  —  none 
whatever  by  the  wise  —  when  it  was  noted  that  he 
handled  his  vulgar  theme  with  an  extraordinary 
reserve. 

He  did  not  describe  degradation.  He  portrayed 
nobility.  He  did  not  depict  the  deformities  of  sin. 
He  dwelt  on  the  beauty  of  holiness.  He  spoke 
of  honor,  of  self-control,  of  purity.  He  spoke  of 
strong  and  steadfast  qualities,  of  beautiful  and 
winning  things;  of  all  that  is  high-minded,  whole- 
souled,  and  clean-bodied ;  of  all  that  a  man  might 
be  who  honored  his  manhood  —  not  of  what  he 
had  become  who  had  failed  in  reverence  for  it. 
Once  he  drew  himself  to  his  commanding  height 
(one  of  his  people  who  loved  him  used  to  call  it 
"his  archangel  size"),  and  his  noble  countenance 
blazed  with  a  white  fire  of  contempt  and  pity  such 

251 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO    PART 

as  one  may  live  a  long  life  and  not  see  on  any 
face. 

"  And  yet,"  he  said,  "  there  are  men  who  give 
themselves  up  to  low  sins  .  .  .  and  drunkenness? 

As  the  preacher  spoke  these  words,  far  back  in 
the  packed  house  his  luminous  eye  fell  upon  two 
men,  one  young,  one  elderly,  sitting  side  by  side, 
and  listening  with  held  breath.  Something  in  their 
attitude  and  absorption,  something  more  in  their 
appearance,  arrested  his  attention.  One  of  the  men 
he  knew,  and  the  other  —  he  thought  the  other 
was  no  stranger.  But  as  he  gazed,  out  of  the  man's 
soul  there  leaped  a  look  —  one  only — before  which 
the  preacher's  startled  heart  stood  still.  As  soon 
as  the  service  came  to  an  end  he  disappeared 
from  sight,  and  in  an  incredible  time,  still  in 
his  gown  and  surplice,  his  forehead  wet  yet  with 
his  emotion,  reappeared  in  the  crowd  of  wor- 
shipers who  were  thronging  to  the  vestibule.  The 
younger  of  the  two  men  who  had  aroused  his  at- 
tention was  about  to  push  through  the  muffled 
doors  when  the  clergyman  laid  a  hand  upon  his 
shoulder. 

"  Timothy  ?  Timothy  George  ?  " 

"Well,  sir,"  said  Timothy,  deferentially.  "It's 
me,  sir.  That  was  a  wonderful  fine  sermon,  Mr. 
Hart." 

"Never  mind  the  sermon/'  said  Mr.  Hart. 
252 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

"  Where  's  the  man  ?  Who  was  the  man  that  sat 
next  you  ?  Has  he  gone  ?  " 

"  He  seems  to  have,"  replied  Timothy,  with  a 
stolid,  guarded  look. 

"  There  was  something  about  him,"  insisted  the 
preacher.  "  I  thought  at  first  I  knew  him.  I  was 
sure  I  did.  But  he  was  so  far  off,  —  and  the  light 
was  dim.  Then  I  thought,  —  do  you  know  him, 
Timothy  ? " 

Timothy  was  silent. 

"  Come  with  me,"  said  Mr.  Hart,  authoritative 
and  pale.  Now  Timothy  was  one  of  the  preacher's 
penitents,  and  he  followed  with  docility  to  the 
pastor's  room.  There  Sterling  Hart  shut  and 
locked  the  door. 

"  I  thought,"  he  repeated,  "  that  I  knew  that 
man,  —  and  while  I  was  preaching,  suddenly  he 
seemed  to  me  —  I  thought  I  was  mistaken.  Was 
I?" 

"  I  don't  know,  sir,"  said  Timothy,  doggedly. 
"  If  I  did,  I  don't  see  as  I  've  got  any  call  to  jab- 
ber, —do  you?  But  I  don't.  I  tell  you,  Mr.  Hart, 
/  dorit  know? 

"  Very  well,"  replied  the  preacher,  rising.  "  Good- 
evening,  Timothy." 

Timothy  stood  twirling  his  respectable  derby 
in  his  decently  gloved  hand.  He  looked  troubled 
and  irresolute. 

253 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

"  Mr.  Hart,  sir,  you  saved  my  life,  —  my  scander- 
lous  life.  And  you  've  saved  me,  —  me  that  used  to 
drink  like  a  codfish  till  you  caught  me  with  your 
trawl.  I  don't  believe  I  've  got  any  call  to  refuse 
you  anything  you  want  of  me.  Do  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  answered  the  preacher 
wearily,  irresolute  in  his  turn.  "You  must  judge 
for  yourself.  You  have  a  conscience  of  your  own. 
Use  it." 

"  I  'm  willing  to  tell  you,"  said  Timothy,  slowly, 
"  what  I  dorit  know." 

"  Very  well,"  replied  the  preacher.  "  Sit  down, 
Timothy."  Timothy  sat  down. 

"  When  I  left  Balsam  Groves  that  time,"  he  be- 
gan, "  you  know,  sir,  I  've  never  been  back  ?  " 

"  I  should  not  advise  you  to  do  so,"  replied  the 
preacher,  gravely. 

"  Rum  done  it,"  urged  Timothy,  falling  back  on 
his  old  phrase. 

"  But  nothing  can  undo  it,  Timothy.  I  have  told 
you  before.  Some  things  never  can  be  undone  in 
this  world.  That  was  one  of  them." 

"  Folks  say  there  is  a  dentist,"  suggested  Tim- 
othy, suddenly  diverted  from  the  topic  which  had 
brought  him  to  the  pastor's  study.  "  Is  she  going 
to  marry  him  ?  " 

"  We  did  not  come  here  to  discuss  the  young 
lady,"  replied  Mr.  Hart,  with  some  severity.  "  You 

254 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

were  about  to  tell  me  more  particularly  what  oc- 
curred when  you  left  Balsam  Groves." 

"  Maybe  you  have  forgotten  I  went  West,"  said 

Timothy.  "  I  went  to "    Timothy  named  a 

large  and  thriving  city.  "  It 's  one  of  those  places 
where  strangers  float  like  spars.  If  it 's  a  woman, 
folks  say  '  What 's  the  matter  with  her  ? '  If  you  're 
a  man,  they  say  *  What 's  he  done  ? '  I  beat  about 
there,  you  know,  sir,  for  a  year,  and  then  —  " 

A  knock  at  the  pastor's  door  cut  Timothy  short. 
Mr.  Hart  admitted  one  of  the  wardens ;  it  was 
something  about  a  quarrel  in  the  choir.  The  pas- 
tor listened  patiently.  When  the  warden  had  gone, 
he  locked  the  door  again. 

"  Now,  Timothy,"  he  said,  "  go  on."  Timothy 
resumed  his  story. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

The  collie  Clyde  sauntered  out  into  the  street, 
sniffing  the  cool  May  evening.  He  had  the  air  of 
a  gentleman  of  leisure  making  up  his  mind  which 
one  of  his  clubs  he  would  run  into.  His  manner 
was  detached  and  assured.  His  fine  eyes  had  their 
mildest  look,  and  he  smiled  broadly,  as  he  had 
been  taught  to  do  when  he  was  a  puppy  and 
wished  to  make  himself  attractive.  A  boy  might 
have  to  stay  at  home  on  a  pleasant  evening  and 
say  his  prayers  and  go  to  bed.  But  a  dog  had  life, 
liberty,  and  the  pursuit  of  happiness  left  at  his 
command.  Of  these  Clyde  made  the  most  in  a 
well-bred  way ;  speculating  idly  while  he  protected 
the  family,  keeping  the  nasturtium  cottage  well 
in  the  corner  of  his  black-brown  eye,  upon  the 
incidents  or  occupants  of  the  community.  For 
instance,  neighbors.  This  subject  had  the  infini- 
tude of  eternity  to  the  collie's  mind.  There  were 
new  ones,  strangers,  presumably  about  to  occupy 
the  dog's  old  home,  the  Sterling  place.  For  some 
days  signs  of  life  had  stirred  about  the  grounds, 
and  wheels  had  rolled  heavily  up  the  long,  muddy 
avenue ;  luggage  had  arrived ;  mechanics  had  come 

256 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

and  gone ;  tradesmen  had  whistled  up  and  away ; 
evidences  of  impending  habitation  had  multiplied  ; 
and  the  topic  was  perplexing.  Clyde  strolled  over 
the  road,  stationed  himself  at  the  opening  of  the 
great  avenue,  and  sat  with  one  ear  up  and  one 
ear  down.  The  symptoms  of  human  approach  he 
understood,  but  human  gossip  was  unfortunately 
occult  to  him.  Clyde  had  an  excellent  vocabulary, 
but  it  was  not  varied  enough  to  suit  the  occasion. 
He  had  heard  the  master  race  talking  of  brides 
and  honeymoons.  But  what  was  a  bride,  and  what 
a  honeymoon  ?  This  was  not  in  the  language  of 
his  tribe.  More  than  once  he  had  heard  it  said  in 
his  presence:  — "  There  was  never  any  bride  there 
before  but  Mrs.  Dane."  But  the  collie  had  no  lexi- 
con ;  he  found  the  idiom  untranslatable.  The  only 
point  perfectly  clear  was  that  trespassers  existed, 
and  that  they  had  chosen  the  family  property  for 
an  intrusion  possibly  capable  of  explanation,  but 
not  yet  justified  to  the  judgment  of  the  family  dog. 
Clyde  sat  between  the  two  great  stone  posts  of 
the  Sterling  place,  and  considered  the  matter. 

Now,  the  truth  of  it  had  not  by  human  expres- 
sion or  canine  instinct  reached  the  collie's  intelli- 
gence. Clyde  as  yet  had  no  perception  of  the  fact 
that  the  villain,  who  (in  his  own  words  to  Sterling 
Hart  on  a  tragic  summer  evening  some  years  ago) 
had  been  dismissed  from  the  stage  in  the  first  act, 

257 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

had  returned  to  flit  across  it  for  a  brief  and  final 
scene. 

It  was  a  strain  to  the  imagination  to  think  of 
the  vivisector  as  a  bridegroom ;  it  was  not  with- 
out a  sense  of  humor  that  one  identified  the  golf 
champion  as  a  bride ;  but  thus  it  was,  and  was  to 
be.  Whether  Mab  Miller,  the  golf  girl,  had  mar- 
ried Dr.  Frost,  or  he  had  married  her,  was  one 
of  the  uncertainties  of  history;  but  that  they  were 
married  was  past  dispute.  The  tenants  of  the 
Sterling  place  (whether  friends  of  the  bride  or 
relatives  of  the  bridegroom),  who  had  leased  it  for 
two  or  three  years,  had  amused  themselves  by  one 
of  the  pretty  attacks  of  hospitality  which  the  East 
Shore  assumes  easily  and  even  often ;  they  had 
offered  their  great  house  and  their  own  servants 
to  the  bridal  couple  for  the  month  of  May,  dis- 
porting themselves  on  a  yacht  in  Southern  seas 
until  the  honeymoon  should  have  waned  from 
"their  own  hired  house,"  and  trying  to  believe 
that  they  had  in  so  far  added  to  the  romance  of 
the  world.  It  proved  harder  to  think  so  than  one 
would  have  expected.  The  vivisector  and  the  golf 
girl  were  not  poetic  material,  make  the  most  one 
might  of  it.  But  they  were  facts ;  and  they  were 
there.  They  had  steamed  out  from  the  city  in  a 
white,  flower-strewn  automobile  after  their  noon 
wedding ;  and  as  quietly  as  possible,  and  almost 

258 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

unobserved,  had  whirred  up  the  avenue,  and  pos- 
sessed themselves  of  the  old,  stately  house,  as  dear 
to  Cara  still  as  the  pangs  of  a  lost  love,  and  always 
thought  of  by  her  gently  and  in  silence,  somewhat 
as  she  thought  of  her  husband's  grave. 

She  had  not  seen  the  bridal  car  when  it  raced 
up;  and  as  it  happened,  Clyde  himself  had  missed 
this  tremendous  event.  The  collie  was  conscious, 
as  dogs  are  of  lost  opportunities,  that  something 
of  interest  had  occurred,  witness  of  which  fate  had 
denied  him.  He  sat  rather  sullenly  guarding  the 
egress  from  the  avenue,  that  nothing  more  might 
escape  him.  While  he  did  so,  he  saw  that  the 
automobile  was  rushing  down.  He  arose  with  dig- 
nity and  reluctance  to  avoid  the  juggernaut,  and 
stepped  aside  upon  the  lawn  —  disdainfully,  be- 
cause he  perceived  that  the  carriage  and  the 
chauffeur  were  both  strangers.  As  the  car  dashed 
past  and  whirled  away,  something  dropped,  and 
Clyde  put  his  paw  upon  it.  It  was  a  man's  glove, 
a  faultless  bridal  glove,  worn  for  an  hour,  loosened 
and  forgotten.  With  one  ear  up  and  one  ear  down, 
the  dog  considered  the  glove  for  some  moments. 
But  these  were  incredibly  few.  With  a  howl  of 
rage  he  flung  himself  upon  it,  worried  it  as  if  it 
had  been  a  rat  of  the  lowest  social  order  in  the 
vermin  world,  and,  suddenly  tearing  it  as  if  it  were 
shredded  flesh,  muscle  from  muscle,  nerve  from 

259 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO    PART 

nerve,  he  dashed  it  away,  and  leaped  up  the  long 
wooded  avenue.  As  he  went,  he  took  mighty 
bounds,  scorning  the  earth,  scaling  the  air.  But 
when  he  approached  the  house  the  dog  grew  astute, 
crushed  his  anger  into  diplomacy,  sniffed,  and 
secreted  himself,  watched,  crawled  upon  his  belly, 
hid,  and  smouldered  in  the  shrubbery.  There,  a 
quivering,  splendid  creature,  with  ancient,  unfor- 
given  wrong  tense  in  every  rigid  line  of  his  beau- 
tiful body,  with  death  and  fire  in  his  eyes,  and  an 
ominous  patience  in  his  attitude,  the  collie  bided 
his  time. 

It  had  been  a  clear,  late  sunset,  and  a  brilliant 
moon  arose.  There  was  no  darkness,  but  the  even- 
ing advanced  from  glow  to  gleam.  The  windows 
of  the  great  house  flashed  warm  light,  and  the 
movements  of  a  luxurious  home  set  in  as  quietly 
and  steadily  among  the  trained  servants  as  if  the 
place  had  been  occupied  for  six  months.  The  bride 
(in  Cara's  old  room)  was  dressing  for  dinner,  and 
the  newly  wedded  husband  strolled  out  of  the 
house ;  he  had  the  thoughtful  mood  in  which  the 
most  thoughtless  of  men  will  find  himself  upon 
his  marriage  evening. 

Thomas  Frost  sat  in  Mr.  Sterling's  wind  chair 
upon  the  piazza  that  faced  the  sea,  but  the  night 
was  cool  and  he  did  not  remain  there.  He  got  up 
and  paced  the  piazza  for  a  while.    He  did  not 

260 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

smoke.  His  tall,  rather  military  figure  moved  to 
and  fro  with  precision.  With  a  cold  gray  eye  he 
observed  the  sea.  Both  his  firm,  sinuous  hands 
were  in  his  pockets.  His  mind  was  active.  What 
he  called  his  heart  was  occupied.  His  heavily  lined 
face  assumed  the  mould  of  satisfaction, — -with 
himself,  with  his  marriage,  with  his  position,  with 
his  prospects.  That  he  had  been  appointed  to  the 
Chair  of  Physiology  in  an  important  New  England 
Medical  School  was,  he  reflected,  no  more  than  his 
distinguished  skill  as  an  experimenter  deserved. 
He  would  enter  upon  the  honors  of  his  professor- 
ship soon  after  the  expiration  of  his  honeymoon. 
This,  meanwhile,  after  the  scientific  method,  he 
set  himself  to  appreciate.  Once  he  left  the  piazza 
and  walked  restlessly  among  the  shrubbery,  glanc- 
ing towards  the  nasturtium  cottage,  which,  for  the 
thickness  of  the  intervening  trees,  he  could  not 
see. 

"  She  made  a  most  unfortunate  marriage,"  he 
thought.  He  raised  his  eyes  to  the  windows  of  his 
wife's  room  ;  her  substantial  shadow  passed  before 
the  shade.  Just  then  she  raised  it,  opened  the  win- 
dow, and  saw  him.  The  muscular  arm  and  hand 
which  had  wielded  the  best  brassie  and  driver  in 
the  Country  Club  relaxed  and  wafted  down  a  kiss. 
This  the  bridegroom  felt  under  obligations  to  re- 
turn.   To  do  so,  he  withdrew  his  right  hand  from 

261 


THOUGH   LIFE    US   DO   PART 

his  pocket.   Then  Mrs.  Frost  let  down  the  shade 
again. 

He  was  standing  looking  up,  moonlit  and  visible 
every  contour  of  him  in  the  bright  night,  every 
personal  sign  and  scent  of  him  given  to  the  soft 
wind,  when  the  shrubbery  behind  him  stirred  a 
little,  as  if  a  snake  had  crawled  through  it.  Thomas 
Frost  turned  to  reenter  the  house,  and  had  set 
one  foot  upon  the  piazza  steps,  when  an  ominous 
muttering  sound  annoyed  his  ear.  This  grew  into 
a  formidable  growl.  A  dog,  raging  with  memory 
of  the  unforgiven,  leaped  and  sprang.  The  collie 
would  have  none  of  the  physiologist's  body  except 
his  hand,  —  the  hand  that  had  committed  the  un- 
pardonable sin  of  all  that  man  may  inflict  upon 
an  animal;  the  hand  that  had  dissected  conscious, 
helpless  flesh  alive.  Clyde's  teeth  fastened  upon 
the  vivisector's  cruel,  valuable  right  hand,  and 
crushed  it,  crunching. 

Kathleen  had  her  evening  off  that  day,  and 
Joyce  had  been  answering  the  doorbell.  But  the 
child  was  now  in  bed ;  patients  were  many ;  the 
reception  room  was  full,  and  Mrs.  Dane  had  taken 
upon  herself  this  domestic  task.  The  front  door 
was  closed.  A  long  scratch,  followed  by  a  heavy, 
thumping  sound,  besieged  it,  and  two  or  three 
sharp  peals  of  the  electric  button  succeeded.  Caro- 

262 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

lyn  opened  the  door,  and  said, "  Why,  Clyde!  Did 
you  ring  that  bell  ?  " 

No  person  was  visible,  and  she  let  the  dog  in. 
He  was  panting  heavily,  and  quivered  in  every 
nerve.  As  if  he  had  been  a  child,  he  flung  himself 
upon  her  lap,  and  put  his  paws  about  her  neck. 
Although  his  eyes  were  wild,  they  had  a  solemn 
look.  He  whined  and  sighed,  and  then  he  began 
to  sob  like  a  little  overwrought  boy.  Cara  bent  and 
put  her  cheek  upon  his  forehead  to  comfort  him. 
As  she  did  so,  she  perceived  that  his  mouth  was 
dripping,  and  that  it  dripped  red. 

The  telephone  called  loudly  at  that  moment,  and 
the  doctor  answered  it  without  delay.  With  a  word 
of  explanation  to  his  waiting  patients,  he  hurried 
limping  out  into  the  hall,  and  seized  his  hat. 

"  It  is  an  emergency  call,"  he  said  to  Mrs.  Dane. 
"  There  seems  to  have  been  a  little  accident  among 
those  bridal  people.    I  must  go  at  once." 

He  was  gone  some  time,  so  long  that  the  patients 
grew  discouraged,  and  drifted  one  by  one  away. 
When  he  returned,  the  office  was  empty,  and  the 
house  was  still.  Clyde  was  asleep  upon  the  rug ; 
in  his  sleep  he  groaned  and  growled.  Mrs.  Dane 
was  sitting  by  the  office  fire.  She  rose  to  greet  the 
doctor,  but  asked  no  questions. 

"Can   I  have   a   little  hot  water?"  he  asked 

quietly. 

263 


THOUGH    LIFE   US   DO    PART 

She  brought  it,  and  he  boiled  it  over  his  alcohol 
lamp,  that  he  might  sterilize  his  instruments ;  he 
put  them  away  before  he  spoke. 

"  There  is  something  you  have  got  to  know,  and 
I  may  as  well  tell  you.  It  is  an  unfortunate  affair, 
and  Clyde  was  mixed  up  in  it.  He  has  bitten  a 
man." 

"  Not  —  not — "  she  began,  and  paled. 

"  Yes,  he  has  bitten  Dr.  Frost.  He  has  hurt  his 
hand  pretty  badly  —  his  right  hand." 

Cara  got  down  upon  the  rug  beside  the  dog, 
and  drew  his  head  upon  her  knee.  Her  trembling 
fingers  touched  Clyde's  old  scar  —  the  scar  so  deep 
that  the  hair  had  never  covered  it. 

"  He  may  have  had  a  reason ! "  she  cried. 

11  Yes,  I  know,"  replied  the  doctor. 

"  What  do  you  know  ?  "  The  searchlight  of  her 
troubled  eyes  traversed  the  physician's  face. 

"  He  told  me,"  observed  Dr.  Royal,  quietly.  "  He 
explained  the  circumstances.  He  said  that  he  once 
experimented  on  the  dog  —  of  course  not  know- 
ing him  to  be  yours.  He  said  that  Clyde  had  never 
forgiven  him ;  that  he  had  attacked  him  before." 

"  Oh,  what  will  they  do  to  Clyde  ? "  moaned 
Cara.  "  If  they  are  going  to  kill  him,  I  would 
rather  do  it  myself.  I  will  chloroform  him.  No 
one  else  shall  touch  him."  She  began  to  tremble 
heavily. 

264 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO    PART 

"  Don't  distress  yourself,"  said  Dr.  Royal,  kindly. 
"  Clyde  will  not  be  harmed.  Frost  does  n't  want 
the  story  to  get  out.  I  don't  think  he  is  par- 
ticularly proud  of  it.  He  says  he  does  not  wish 
his  wife  to  know.  He  invented  some  explanation 
of  the  accident.  I  think  it  will  pass.  I  believe  he 
slipped  on  the  rocks;  had  a  bad  fall;  a  rolling 
stone  hurt  him;  something  of  that  kind  —  that  is 
his  business.  Mine  is  to  keep  a  patient's  confi- 
dence—  I  told  you  because  —  " 

"Yes,"  interrupted  Carolyn.  "You  had  to  tell 
me.  I  ought  to  know.  We  shall  have  to  keep 
Clyde  tied  up." 

"  Till  Frost  leaves  the  village,  I  think  you  will. 
He  won't  stay  any  longer  than  he  can  help.  If  it 
proves  serious,  he  will  go  back  to  town,  where  he 
can  get  a  bigger  surgeon  than  I  am." 

"  Will  he  lose  his  hand  ? "  asked  Carolyn,  with 
difficulty. 

"No,  oh,  no.  Only  his  honeymoon.  With  proper 
care,  I  think  we  can  save  the  hand  ;  but  I  am  afraid 
—  it  will  be  rather  stiff." 

"  It  is  shocking ! "  said  Cara,  with  emotion. 

"  It  is  unfortunate,"  replied  the  doctor.  "  Neme- 
sis usually  is.  The  most  interesting  thing  to  me 
about  it  —  "  he  paused. 

"What  is  the  most  interesting  thing  to  you 
about  it  ? "  demanded  Mrs.  Dane. 

265 


THOUGH    LIFE   US   DO   PART 

"  Why,  that  he  does  n't  want  his  wife  to  know. 
The  terrible  and  beautiful  power  of  the  marriage 
bond  has  set  in  already." 

"  Upon  Thomas  Frost?" 

11  Even  upon  him." 

The  two  were  standing  opposite  each  other  as 
they  exchanged  these  words.  Their  eyes,  brimming 
lakes  of  feeling,  met  as  if  they  united  in  one  un- 
fathomable sea.  Carolyn  felt  herself  swayed  to  the 
deeps.  Between  her  allegiance  to  the  vanished  and 
her  attraction  to  the  apparent,  she  vibrated  in  a 
piteous  vacillation.  The  old  contention  between 
the  quick  and  the  dead  made  havoc  of  her,  and 
she  had  no  more  power  of  resistance  to  it  than 
a  battleground  has  of  rebellion  to  conflicting 
armies.  The  moment  had  become  so  tense,  it 
was  with  a  sense  of  escape  that  she  heard  the 
steps  of  her  cousin  upon  the  piazza,  and  turned 
at  his  familiar  hand  upon  the  door  to  meet  and 
greet  him.  This  she  did  with  a  cordiality  so 
assumed  that  he  felt  it  —  his  hurt  face  showed 
how  much.  He  glanced  from  her  to  her  tenant, 
first  with  the  priest's  and  then  with  the  prophet's 
look. 

Clyde  came  out  slowly  to  extend  the  hospitality 
of  the  cottage  to  its  kinsman.  The  dog  walked 
with  dignity.  Not  a  cloud  of  guilt  lurked  in  his 
fine  eyes.  He  spurned  the  floor  with  a  lofty  pride. 

266 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

He  had  the  air  of  a  noble  avenger,  who  had  righted 
the  wrongs  of  a  race. 

Impulsively,  without  remembering  that  she  was 
not  free  to  speak  of  it,  and  because  she  had  always 
told  everything  to  Sterling  Hart,  Carolyn  hastened 
to  give  the  story  of  what  had  happened.  She  saw 
that  Mr.  Hart  was  troubled,  if  not  alarmed. 

"  I  will  go  right  over  and  see  him,"  he  said,  turn- 
ing about. 

"  Excuse  me,"  interrupted  the  physician,  step- 
ping forward,  "  but  this  matter  is  not  to  be  known, 
if  you  please.  Mrs.  Dane  very  naturally  made  an 
exception  of  you  —  as  I  was  forced  to  make  one  of 
her.  But  nothing  whatever  should  be  said.  In  any 
event,  I  am  sure  you  would  wish  to  wait  before 
calling  on  Dr.  Frost.  He  is  really  in  too  much  suf- 
fering to  see  any  person." 

"  I  am  not  attached  to  Dr.  Frost,"  urged  Mr. 
Hart,  with  some  feeling,  "  but  it  is  precisely  where 
there  is  suffering  that  my  profession  calls  me." 

"  And  that  mine,  in  this  instance,  must  dissuade 
you,"  said  the  physician.  "  I  would  advise  you  to 
wait  for  some  days.  We  don't  know  yet  how  this 
is  going  to  turn  out.  I  may  have  to  spend  most  of 
the  night  with  him.  He  is  considerably  hurt." 

The  two  men  regarded  each  other  in  surcharged 
silence. 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  clergyman,  "  if  the  case  is 
26  j 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO    PART 

yours,  I  will  not  go  —  not  at  present.  Instead,  if 
you  please,  Dr.  Royal,  I  should  like  a  short  inter- 
view with  yourself.  In  fact  I  may  admit,  if  you 
will  excuse  me,  Cousin  Carolyn,  that  I  came  with 
this  purpose  in  view.  I  thought  I  should  find  you, 
sir,  at  your  office  hours." 

Carolyn  moved  away  quickly,  and  her  cousin 
shut  the  office  door.  She  thought,  but  she  might 
have  been  mistaken,  that  he  slipped  the  key.  He 
remained  in  the  office  for  a  long  time.  She  could 
hear  the  poignant  murmur  of  their  voices,  inter- 
spersed with  significant  silences.  She  grew  uneasy, 
she  could  not  have  told  why.  As  the  interview 
progressed,  her  discomfort  increased. 

To  escape  her  unpleasant  position,  she  wan- 
dered restlessly  about  the  house,  and  thinking  to 
make  sure  that  Kathleen  had  left  the  dampers  as 
they  should  be,  went  into  the  kitchen.  Now  Clyde 
had  shadowed  her  closely,  aggrieved  that  he  was 
denied  the  society  of  the  two  gentlemen  upon  an 
evening  so  eventful  in  the  family  history ;  jealous 
of  attention,  and  nervous  for  praise,  he  pushed 
through  the  pantry  and  pawed  at  the  office  door. 
This  was  not  locked,  and  Clyde,  who  was  distin- 
guished for  his  ability  to  open  doors,  forced  the 
latch  by  means  best  known  to  himself,  and  lunged 
in,  heavily  and  pleasantly  wagging.  There  was  a 
distinct  interval  before  the  door  was  closed  again, 

268 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

and  in  this  time  there  wandered  out  to  Mrs. 
Dane's  apprehension  the  articulation  of  these 
words :  — 

"  You  may  be  the  most  irreproachable  man  in 
this  world,  sir,  but  we  know  nothing  about  you. 
Your  past  is  a  blank  to  us.  Your  present  is  a  mys- 
tery. Apparently  you  have  no  antecedents,  or  none 
which  you  are  willing  to  present.  I  am  the  only 
living  kinsman  of  this  lady  who  has  the  right  to 
protect  her.  In  my  judgment,  your  presence  in 
Mrs.  Dane's  house  has  continued  long  enough 
.  .  .  if  not  too  long,"  added  Sterling  Hart,  with 
fervor. 

Wincing  and  quivering,  with  fire  in  her  cheeks, 
and  her  heart  leaping  in  her  throat,  Carolyn  shrank 
back.  Her  first  impulse  was  to  enter  the  room  — 
it  was  hers  —  and  confront  the  two  men  with  the 
matter  under  dispute  between  them  —  it  was  her 
affair.  But  the  instinct  of  a  lady  to  avoid  a  scene 
deterred  her.  She  went  back  into  the  living-room, 
and  stood  still,  —  tall  and  distinct  beneath  the 
lighted  gas,  trying  to  decide  what  she  should 
do. 

This  she  found  not  easy,  and  she  still  remained 
irresolute  when  the  key  slid  in  the  office  lock,  and 
the  door  opened.  Mr.  Hart  held  it  ajar  with  his 
hand  upon  the  knob.  He  had  his  giant  look ;  his 
face  was  imperturbable  and  grave.  He  was  saying 

269 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO    PART 

—  and  it  struck  Carolyn  that  he  made  no  effort  to 
conceal  from  her  that  he  was  saying:  — 

"  I  have  put  the  case  to  you  plainly,  man  to 
man.  I  have  explained  my  reasons  to  you  —  why 
I  experience  the  uneasiness  that  I  do.  I  will  deal 
with  you  fairly,  but  you  will  do  as  much  by  me 
.  .  .  and  by  this  lady,  sir.  Give  us  your  creden- 
tials. Clear  up  the  points  that  I  have  mentioned. 
I  will  give  you,  —  Dr.  Royal,  I  give  you  a  week." 

Sterling  Hart  crossed  the  cottage  hall,  and  con- 
fronted Mrs.  Dane  with  a  gesture  at  once  com- 
manding and  entreating. 

"  Good-night,  Cousin  Carolyn,"  he  said  gently. 
"  I  am  afraid  that  I  perplex  or  grieve  you.  I  have 
no  alternative.  I  will  explain  myself  —  with  Dr. 
Royal's  permission  — at  another  time.  We  are  all 
tired  to-night." 

He  closed  the  cottage  door,  and  his  strong  step 
rang  down  the  walk.  Mrs.  Dane  and  her  tenant 
stood  regarding  each  other  silently.  The  collie 
ran  between  them,  restlessly  whining.  Joyce  in 
his  bed  upstairs  waked  and  called  :  — 

"Mum  —  mumma?"  Maudlin  with  sleep,  the 
little  fellow  dribbled  into  the  dialect  of  his  baby- 
hood: "Mum  —  mumma?   Pup  —  puppa?    Mum 

—  ma  ? " 

Mrs.  Dane  ran  up  to  the  boy,  and  when  she 
came  down  the  office  was  empty.  The  doctor  had 

270 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

gone  for  the  night.  She  realized,  not  without  a 
pang  of  perplexity,  or  even  anxiety,  that  he  had 
gone  without  a  word. 

The  vivisector  lay  upon  the  couch  in  the  Ster- 
ling drawing-room  and  nursed  his  mangled  hand. 
His  wife  devoted  herself  to  his  emergency  without 
a  weakened  nerve.  She  read  to  him  for  hours ; 
her  strong  throat  never  tired.  She  tramped  on 
errands  for  him  all  over  the  village.  Her  well- 
developed  feet  made  frolic  of  the  six-mile  walk 
to  Balsam  which  she  took  to  find  the  particular 
orchids  that  struck  his  scientific  fancy.  For  what 
might  be  called  more  human  flowers,  Thomas 
Frost  did  not  care.  It  occurred  to  him  that  he 
had  married  a  healthy,  sensible,  and  not  a  selfish 
girl,  who  could  attach  herself  to  a  man  in  the 
proper  feminine  ways  as  successfully  as  she  had 
wielded  a  brassie.  He  went  so  far  as  to  wonder  if 
the  golf  girl,  after  all,  might  not  prove  a  champion 
wife.  But  upon  mere  matters  of  sentiment  his 
mind  did  not  dwell  tenaciously.  His  enforced 
inactivity  and  acute  suffering  had  converted  him 
into  a  raging  schemer.  His  gray  eyes  smouldered 
like  cool  embers. 

Against  the  dog  he  was  powerless,  perforce.  A 
man  cannot  sacrifice  his  reputation,  or  even  his 
domestic  happiness,  to  private  vengeance  upon  an 

271 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

animal.  Unfortunately,  Mrs.  Frost  was  fond  of 
dogs ;  she  had  three  in  her  father's  home. 

Then,  if  the  story  should  leak  out,  his  colleagues 
would  be  ill  pleased.  The  new  professor  would 
start  under  a  sentimental  cloud.  A  disabled  hand 
might  be  overcome  ;  demonstrators  could  be  found 
to  perform  the  butchery  while  he  supplied  the 
oratory  of  his  brilliant  experiments.  But  when  it 
came  to  a  moral  blur,  what  could  be  done  ?  No 
understudy  could  supply  the  ethical  quality. 

But  for  this  obstinate  fact,  Clyde  would  have 
been  shot  through  the  head  without  delay.  The 
vivisector  was  not  stupid,  and  he  accepted  his 
situation.  Against  the  dog  he  could  not  avenge 
himself;  but  the  woman  remained. 

Thomas  Frost  had  some  years  since  passed  the 
point  of  sensitiveness  to  the  sight  of  suffering.  It 
had  become  as  easy  for  him  to  inflict  as  for  an- 
other man  to  spare.  He  thought  of  Carolyn  Dane 
with  a  cold  conviction  that  if  she  could  be  made 
to  suffer  for  the  fault  of  her  dog,  it  would  not  be 
more  than  she  deserved,  at  least  no  more  than 
he  was  willing  to  impose.  He  brooded  upon  the 
matter  with  an  icy  bitterness. 

While  receiving  the  surgical  attention  of  Charles 
Royal,  he  scrutinized  the  man.  A  chance  ques- 
tion to  the  old  Balsam  doctor ;  a  clever  hint  to  the 
consulting  surgeon  from   the  city;  a  few  flying 

272 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

arrows  shot  into  the  mind  of  Sterling  Hart  when 
the  preacher  made  his  priestly  call  —  these  psy- 
chological experiments  occupied  the  ruined  honey- 
moon of  the  vivisector.  The  human  heart  had 
become  his  laboratory,  and  in  this,  though  some- 
thing of  a  bungler  at  that  finer  art,  he  worked 
with  a  determination  which  was  a  substitute  for 
skill.  The  experiment  did  not  occupy  much  time. 
Within  two  weeks  Dr.  Frost  returned  with  his  wife 
to  her  father's  house,  where  three  fine  dogs  em- 
braced the  bride,  and  sniffed  at  the  bridegroom. 

Sterling  Hart  did  not  return  to  Dr.  Royal's 
office  within  the  week  whose  iron  boundary  he 
had  set  before  the  man.  He  lingered  two  weeks; 
he  delayed  for  three.  If  he  came  to  see  his  cousin, 
it  was  at  hours  when  the  tenant  could  not  be  found, 
and  to  speak  of  subjects  in  which  the  doctor  had 
no  concern. 

It  could  be  seen  that  Mr.  Hart  obviously  avoided 
the  matter  which  had  annoyed  and  troubled  Caro- 
lyn upon  his  earlier  visit;  and  she,  full  of  a  mingled 
emotion,  half  resentment  and  half  fear,  did  not 
herself  recall  it. 

But  one  evening  in  the  later  May  —  a  rainy 
evening,  when  patients  would  be  few  —  the 
preacher  presented  himself  in  office  hours,  and 
asked  distinctly  for  the  doctor. 

273 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 


The  two  men  met  courteously,  but  without  cor- 
diality. The  preacher,  with  some  hesitation,  took 
the  patient's  chair.  The  physician  retained  his 
own.  His  manner  was  as  grave  as  that  of  the 
other,  and  possessed,  it  might  be  said,  an  equal 
dignity.   He  was,  in  fact,  the  first  to  speak. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  my  time  is  more  than  up.  I 
am  not  sure  whether  I  should  thank  you  for  the 
reprieve.  But  I  am  ready  to  hear  whatever  you 
have  to  say  to  me." 

"  It  will  not  take  long,"  replied  the  preacher ; 
curtly  for  Sterling  Hart.  "  It  is  chiefly  in  a  word: 
You  have  given  me  to  understand  that  you  are 
an  educated  physician,  properly  graduated." 

"  I  have,  because  I  am." 

"  You  possess,  of  course,  the  diploma  of  some 
accredited  institution  ? " 

"  I  don't  frame  it  and  hang  it,"  returned  Dr. 
Royal,  with  a  smile  whose  bitterness  was  disguised 
by  its  gentleness.  "  It  is  in  one  of  the  drawers  of 
my  desk." 

"Are  you  willing  —  pray  excuse  me  —  that  I 
should  see  it?"  asked  the  preacher  point-blank. 

"  No,"  said  the  physician,  with  equal  bluntness. 
"  At  least,"  he  added,  "  not  under  the  present  cir- 
cumstances. I  can  conceive  of  those  in  which  I 
might  be." 

"  Pardon  me,"  proceeded  Sterling  Hart,  with- 
274 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 


out  smiling,  "  but  the  time  has  come  when  I  must 
tell  you  that  it  is  said,  —  I  have  been  told, —  the 
authority  is  good,  Dr.  Royal,  or  you  will  believe 
that  I  should  not  act  upon  it.  I  learn  that  your 
name  does  not  stand  upon  the  list  of  registered 
physicians  of  this  state." 

"  Have  you  been  meddling  —  looking  that  up  ?  " 

The  lame  doctor  got  to  his  feet,  and  took  fire, 
like  a  less  gentle  man. 

"I  never  thought  of  it!"  blazed  back  the 
preacher.  "  If  I  had,  I  should  undoubtedly  have 
done  so.  I  have  my  cousin's  interests  to  protect. 
Nothing  else  matters  to  me  beside  those.  I  could 
not  have  a  charlatan  —  an  adventurer  —  assuming 
and  sustaining  the  position  which  you  hold  in  this 
house." 

The  doctor  waved  these  words  off  with  a  ees- 
ture  whose  dignity  impressed  itself  upon  the 
preacher  even  in  that  agitated  moment. 

"  You  would  be  quite  right,"  he  replied  with 
unexpected  self-possession.  "  I  should  not  blame 
you.  ...  I  suppose,"  he  added,  wheeling,  "  Frost 
told  you  this  ?  " 

Mr.  Hart,  too,  got  to  his  feet.  He  made  no 
reply  to  this  question,  and  the  eyes  of  the  two 
men  met  poignantly.  Then  the  preacher  said  :  — 

"Would  it  matter  who  discovered  the  fact  —  if 
it  were  a  fact  ?  If  it  be  a  fact  ?  " 

275 


THOUGH    LIFE   US   DO   PART 


"  He  is  capable  of  it,"  mused  the  doctor,  look- 
ing into  the  fire  more  drearily  than  angrily.  "  I 
might  have  thought  of  it — I  did  n't,  that 's  all. 
.  .  .  Mr.  Hart !  "  He  turned  his  marred  face  with 
a  pathetic  movement,  half  appeal,  half  pain.  "  Mr. 
Hart!  The  time  has  come,  I  see,  when  I  must 
answer  your  questions  —  some  of  them,  at  least. 
We  both  belong  to  the  confessional  professions. 
I  ought  to  be  able  to  trust  you.  Do  you  demand 
my  confidence  ? " 

"  I  demand  nothing,"  returned  the  preacher, 
quickly. 

"Will  you  accept  it,  then  ?  " 

The  preacher  hesitated.  "  I  can't  put  myself 
under  bonds  —  "  he  argued  hurriedly.  "  You  must 
see  that.  All  I  can  say  is  :  I  have  never  betrayed 
a  human  soul  —  that  I  can  remember  —  in  my 
life." 

"  It  can't  be  helped,  at  any  rate,"  replied  the 
doctor,  wearily.  "  There  is  no  other  way.  I  must 
risk  it.  If  you  will  be  seated,  Mr.  Hart?  Thank 
you.  I  am  rather  lame  to  conduct  a  difficult  con- 
versation on  my  feet.  Are  the  doors  all  shut? 
Where  is  Mrs.  Dane?" 

Mr.  Hart  looked  out  into  the  hall,  and  closed 
and  locked  the  office  door  again. 

"  I  think  she  must  be  upstairs  with  Joyce,"  he 
said.  He  returned  to  his  chair  before  the  office 

276 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

fire.  The  doctor  sat  looking  into  it.  It  was  some 
moments  before  he  spoke. 

It  was  half  an  hour,  it  was  an  hour,  it  was  two, 
but  the  interchange  of  voices  in  the  office  did  not 
cease.  Some  time  after  ten  o'clock,  Carolyn  came 
down  to  put  out  the  gas  and  go  up  to  bed.  Sud- 
denly the  office  door  opened,  and  she  heard  her 
cousin  saying  gently  :  — 

"  How  much  time  do  you  want  ?  " 

"How  can  I  tell  you?"  returned  the  doctor. 
11  It  may  be  a  month ;  it  might  be  a  day." 

Then  Sterling  Hart  came  through  the  door- 
way with  bowed  head.  His  manner  indicated  emo- 
tion so  great  that  Cara  shrank  back,  afraid  to 
speak  to  him.  But  he  took  a  step  or  two,  and 
approached  her  silently.  Without  a  word  he 
stretched  his  arms  above  her  head  —  not  touching 
her  —  as  if  he  blessed  her;  as  a  priest,  and  as  a 
man,  and  as  a  kinsman ;  as  if  he  blessed  her  alto- 
gether and  forever ;  and  so,  still  mute,  he  left  her. 
In  that  moment  she  had  seen  his  noble  face ;  and 
that  it  rained  with  tears. 

Now,  the  evening  and  the  morning  were  the 
next  day.  The  storm  was  spent.  It  was  a  shining 
day,  and  blossomed  like  a  white,  hot  rose.  It  was 
the  national  Memorial  Day,  as  it  befell,  and  Caro- 
lyn had  been  early  to  the  churchyard,  taking  her 

277 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

boy  and  her  flowers  with  her.  This  made  her  late 
at  her  day's  work,  and  she  left  Joyce,  as  her  habit 
was,  in  Kathleen's  quite  trustworthy  care,  and 
hurried  away,  disregarding  the  child's  peremptory 
demand  "to  see  some  soiljers,"  without  her  usual 
attention  to  his  fixed  ideas. 

Dr.  Royal  (to  whom  she  offered  that  day  an 
abstracted  greeting,  as  if  the  anniversary  had 
detached  her  altogether  from  him)  paid  his  early 
morning  call  on  Solomon  Hops,  and  was  about 
to  proceed  upon  his  rounds,  when  a  change  of 
purpose  took  him  ;  he  left  his  horse  at  his  office 
hitching-post,  and  made  across  the  lawn  of  the 
Sterling  place  towards  the  house  of  Mr.  Hart, 
musing  as  he  walked.  As  he  leisurely  approached 
the  ravine  and  the  iron  bridge  he  heard,  or  fancied 
that  he  heard,  a  scream,  followed  by  another,  and 
another,  each  cleaving  the  May  morning  like  a 
rapier,  and  seeming  to  him  like  a  succession  of 
mortal  stabs.  The  lame  man  limped  into  a  chaotic 
run,  and  hobbled  up  —  slowly,  at  his  best  —  in 
time  to  meet  the  preacher  coming  towards  him 
rapidly.  Mr.  Hart  in  his  coffin  will  be  no  grayer 
than  he  was  at  that  monstrous  moment. 

In  his  arms  he  clasped  a  little  shrinking  figure. 
It  was  Cara's  boy. 

"  What  is  it?  "  demanded  the  doctor.  "  Let  me 
have  him  !  Let  me  have  him  —  quickly ! " 

278 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

But  the  preacher  held  his  little  kinsman  to  his 
leaping  heart.  The  motion  was  automatic  and  im- 
perious. 

"  He  fell,"  gasped  Sterling  Hart.  "  He  was  com- 
ing to  find  me,  I  think.  He  slipped  and  rolled  — 
off — off — "  He  shivered,  and  hid  his  eyes  upon 
the  sobbing  child. 

"  Not  there  1 " 

Dr.  Royal  pointed  to  the  chasm  with  a  finger 
that  shook  like  a  ribbon  in  a  gale. 

"  He  fell,  and  rolled — his  little  clothes  caught 
somewhere  —  I  think  it  was  the  leather  belt  —  he 
was  hanging — over  the  —  over  the  —  when  I  found 
him.  There  was  a  break  in  the  railing  we  put  up 
after  Timothy  George  —  nobody  knew  it.  I  was 
out  walking.  It  just  happened  so ;  that  is  all." 

"  Give  him  to  me!"  insisted  the  physician,  with 
a  formidable  look.  "  You  should  not  yield  to  any 
feeling  you  have  —  any  impulse  or  affection  till  we 
know  —  God !  Don't  you  see  Joyce  is  in  convul- 
sions? Give  me  —  that  is  —  the  child,  I  say!" 

The  preacher's  mighty  arms  surrendered  the 
boy  to  the  doctor,  who  laid  him  on  the  grass  and 
examined  him  in  absolute  silence.  After  a  few 
moments  he  lifted  the  lad  jealously  again  to  his 
own  breast,  and  the  two  men  walked  on  with  their 
shuddering  little  burden. 

In  the  May  morning  they  looked  at  each  other. 
2/9 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

Their  eyes  said:  "Which  of  us  must  tell  her?" 
"  What  will  this  do  to  her?  "  They  had  gone  but 
a  short  and  difficult  distance  when  they  met  Kath- 
leen running  and  panting. 

"  It  was  but  the  drop  of  me  eyelash,  the  twist 
of  me  head,"  argued  Kathleen,  "  an'  when  I  turns 
the  tail  of  me  eye,  he  was  not  forninst  me.  He  'd 
been  that  crazy  over  them  soldiers  since  the  drums 
begun.  He  says, 'Mr.  Cousin  Sterling  Hart '11 
show  me  some  soiljers — '  Mother  of  Heaven! 
Mother  of  God  ! "  cried  Kathleen.  She  gave  one 
glance  at  the  writhing  child,  threw  her  apron  over 
her  head,  and  dropped  upon  the  grass.  The  two 
men  strode  on. 

When  they  approached  the  cottage  they  stopped 
and  stood  irresolute.  A  woman's  figure,  draped 
in  translucent  black,  moved  uneasily  about  the 
grounds,  and  a  woman's  voice  —  the  tenderest  in 
all  the  world  of  women  that  either  the  physician 
or  the  preacher  knew — was  calling  with  penetrat- 
ing sweetness:  — 

"Joyce?  Joyce?  My  baby!  My  little  man! 
Where  is  mother's  precious  boy  ?  " 

From  the  village  churchyard,  a  mile  away,  the 
throb  of  military  music,  like  the  beat  of  a  heart, 
pulsated  plainly,  and  seemed  to  answer  her.  Now 
the  bugle  was  calling  taps  above  the  soldiers' 
graves,  where  the  living  had  left  all  they  had  to 

280 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

give  the  dead,  —  their  flowers  and  their  tears. 
But  Joyce  did  not  hear  the  "  soiljers."  Without  a 
wound,  without  a  break,  without  a  bruise  upon  his 
perfect  little  body,  the  child,  smitten  by  terror  and 
shock,  passed  from  convulsion  to  convulsion  in 
the  doctor's  arms. 


CHAPTER   XVII 

Carolyn  crept,  leaning  upon  one  elbow.  She 
had  put  the  child  into  her  own  bed  at  the  first, 
and  there,  on  the  edge  of  the  broad  mattress,  she 
had  lain  day  and  night.  The  sleeve  of  her  loose 
white  gown  was  worn  through  to  her  bare  flesh 
from  the  constraint  and  persistence  of  her  posi- 
tion. She  was  able  in  this  way  at  once  to  watch 
the  boy's  face  and  to  hold  his  hand  while  he  slept; 
so  to  foretell,  by  the  tightening  of  little  fingers  on 
her  own,  the  advance  of  the  throes  in  which  he 
would  awake. 

Outside  of  the  sickroom  it  was  laughing  June. 
For  three  weeks  the  child  had  floated  between 
life  and  death,  as  the  little  flags  on  the  soldiers' 
graves  fluttered  and  fell  with  wind  or  calm  upon 
their  fragile  staffs.  The  flowers  were  ashes  upon 
the  mounds,  but  the  small  human  soul  clung  to 
its  rights  in  its  racked  body.  Brain  fever  with 
complications,  superinduced  by  shock,  were  om- 
inous words.  The  mother  listened  to  them  dully.  It 
did  not  seem  to  her  to  matter  what  they  called  it. 
Nothing  mattered.  The  child  would  die ;  that  was 
all.   Nothing  could  save  him.  Consultants  from 

282 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO    PART 

the  city  came  and  went.  She  listened  stupidly  to 
what  they  said.  Dr.  Royal  would  understand.  She 
turned  to  Dr.  Royal.  Carolyn's  natural  courage 
had  quite  forsaken  her  in  this  last  extremity.  She 
had  reached  the  point  of  endurance  where  a 
woman  ceases  to  hope,  or  even  to  struggle  for  any 
form  of  happiness,  since  fate  has  denied  her  so 
many,  and  accepts  as  her  lot  that  reiteration  of 
sorrow  which  we  find  to  be  the  portion  of  certain 
lives.  All  the  optimism  of  the  situation  came  from 
the  nature  of  Charles  Royal.  All  the  will  power, 
all  the  hope  concentrated  upon  the  sinking  boy, 
were  his.  He  had  held  the  flickering  life  in  the 
hollow  of  his  hand.  For  three  weeks  he  had  not 
known  a  night's  rest  or  a  day's  relief.  He  watched 
the  disease  as  a  burning  glass  observes  a  piece  of 
scorching  paper.  Sometimes  it  seemed  to  shrivel, 
whether  before  his  professional  skill  or  his  per- 
sonal absorption.  Then  the  lad  subtly  lost  more 
than  he  gained,  and  the  unequal  contest  set  in 
again.  The  physician  did  not  yield  his  case  by  the 
width  of  a  wearied  moment,  or  the  weakness  of  a 
diverted  purpose.  Carolyn  had  no  heart  to  wonder 
at  the  tenacity  of  his  determination  to  save  the 
patient,  or  at  his  affection  for  the  child ;  but  she 
was  steadily  and  acutely  conscious  of  both. 

Now,  with   the  breadth  of  the  little  lad's  bed 
between  them,  they  sat,  she  on  its  edge,  he  on  a 

283 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 


chair  at  the  other  side.  It  was  a  warm  evening, 
and  all  the  windows  were  flung  wide.  There  was 
but  one  light  in  the  sickroom,  and  that,  shaded 
from  the  little  patient,  embossed  the  doctor's  face 
and  head  and  hands  in  a  soft  illumination  against 
the  shadow  of  a  screen.  The  screen  was  black, 
and  its  embroidery  gold.  Carolyn  could  see  that 
one  of  his  hands  was  clenched ;  the  other  played 
along  the  boy's  pulse  like  a  listening  finger  on 
an  invisible  flute,  —  a  magical  instrument,  which 
offered  music,  but  did  not  yield  it. 

The  "  sorryfool  man  "  looked  older  than  usual. 
It  seemed  to  Mrs.  Dane  that  he  had  aged  rapidly 
within  the  last  few  weeks.  His  hair  was  a  shade 
whiter;  the  hollows  in  his  cheeks  were  gaunt.  His 
gray  beard  drooped  at  the  corners  of  his  mouth, 
and  she  was  sure  that  his  unseen  lips  trembled. 
Her  wasted  eyes  traversed  the  familiar  map  of  his 
face.  Perhaps  for  the  first  time  it  occurred  to  her 
that  there  were  spaces  upon  it  marked  "  unex- 
plored." Certain  sacred  words  forced  themselves 
upon  her  imagination,  and  her  thought  repeated 
them,  not  irreverently:  — 

"  For  his  visage  was  so  marred,  more  than  any 


man." 


How  brutally  that  wreck  had  treated  him  !  A 
dark  scar  ran  across  his  forehead  and  his  temple; 
one  of  his  cheeks  was  quite  defaced.   The  strain 

284 


THOUGH   LIFE    US   DO   PART 

of  his  battle  for  the  life  of  her  child,  the  long- 
drawn  vigil,  the  lost  vitality,  and  the  sensitive 
anxiety  which  she  could  not  deceive  herself  in 
thinking  that  he  had  experienced  —  these  had  em- 
phasized his  physical  defects  and  deformities.  His 
hoarse  voice  was  fainter  than  she  had  ever  known 
it ;  more  raucous,  more  unpleasant  to  the  ear. 
She  had  never  seen  him  limp  so  much  as  he  did 
now.  Her  haggard  eyes  absorbed  every  feature, 
every  gesture  of  the  disfigured  and  exhausted 
man. 

"  He  stands  between  me  and  the  worst,"  she 
thought. 

Her  hurt  heart  crawled  towards  him  as  a 
wounded  creature  seeks  the  only  shelter  it  can 
find.  She  leaned  to  him  with  the  passion  of  pity 
which  only  tender  women  know  for  unselfish,  un- 
attractive men.  Cara  thought :  "  If  you  were  well, 
and  strong,  and  handsome,  and  fortunate,  I  should 
not  care  so  much." 

A  clock  in  the  room  ticked  gently,  and  the  boy 
stirred. 

"  Has  n't  he  slept  a  good  while  ?  "  his  mother 
asked. 

"  Longer  than  at  any  time  before." 

"  What  did  Dr.  Strang  say  ?  " 

"  Oh,  he  agreed  with  the  rest." 

"  Does  n't  he  think  there  is  any  hope  ?  " 
285 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

"  Why  do  you  ask  me  these  questions  ?  " 

"  What  did  he  say  to  you  when  you  were  alone 
together  ?  " 

"  The  usual  things.  He  advised  anodynes,  and 
so  forth." 

11  Have  you  given  them  ? " 

"No." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  give  them  ?  " 

11  No." 

Carolyn  looked  at  the  child.  Her  face  worked. 

"  Do  you  want  Dr.  Strang  to  take  the  case  ? 
I  should  not  blame  you.  You  are  trusting  me 
very  far." 

"  I  shall  trust  you  farther,  —  to  the  uttermost, 
to  the  end." 

Although  subdued  conversation  did  not  disturb 
the  boy,  but  tended  rather  to  soothe  him  (so  large 
a  part  had  the  element  of  terror  taken  in  his  dis- 
order), yet  they  had  been  speaking  in  the  lowest 
whispers,  scarcely  articulate.  Their  own  voices 
sounded  unreal  to  them.  The  physician  did  not 
reply  to  Mrs.  Dane's  last  words.  His  emotion  over- 
came him,  and  he  made  no  effort  to  conceal  that 
it  did  so,  but  averted  his  scarred  face  from  her. 
His  finger  crept  back  to  the  child's  pulse. 

"  He  is  still  sleeping !  "  breathed  Carolyn. 

The  doctor  glanced  at  his  watch.  "  Almost  an 
hour  more  than  at  any  time  before." 

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THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

Her  eyes  ran  to  the  little  wrist  where  the  trained 
ringer  tip  rested  as  lightly  as  a  leaf. 

"  Stronger,"  he  whispered,  "  a  little.  More  even, 
I  think." 

Across  his  disfigured  face  a  frail  smile  stirred. 
Carolyn's  courage  took  fire  from  it.  She  sat  with 
held  breath,  as  if  the  child's  life  —  still  a  part  of 
her  own  being — would  exhale  with  the  action  of 
her  lungs.  Her  eyes  sought  the  physician  eagerly. 
But  his  cautiously  replied. 

Now,  when  Mrs.  Dane  turned  her  head,  Kath- 
leen at  the  door  was  standing  with  hot  soup,  and 
beckoning  to  the  doctor. 

"  You,  too,"  he  said  ;  and  Carolyn  followed  him. 
Kathleen  took  the  watcher's  place  beside  the  boy, 
and  the  two  sat  down  in  the  hall.  There  was  a 
divan  beneath  the  window,  and  a  small  light  table. 
They  put  the  cups  of  soup  upon  the  table,  and 
sipped  comfortably;  they  had  never  taken  a  meal 
together,  and  both  remembered  the  fact.  Carolyn 
felt  curiously  comforted,  as  a  woman  does  by  the 
domestic  atmosphere  in  her  saddest  moments. 
This  had  suddenly  and  subtly  become  something 
lighter  and  brighter  than  a  sad  moment. 

"  Is  there  any  chance  ?  "  she  asked  outright. 

"  Do  not  be  too  sure  of  it,"  he  parried  gently. 
"  It  seems  to  me  possible  ;  that 's  all  I  can  say." 

"  If  Joyce  should  get  well  —  "  Panting,  she  set 
28; 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

her  cup  down.  "  I  think  I  would  never  complain  of 
anything,  never  ask  for  anything  again.  It  would 
be  ...  so  much  happiness.  I  should  not  know 
how  to  .  .  .  bear  it." 

"  Do  you  mean,"  demanded  the  doctor,  unex- 
pectedly, "  that  there  would  be  no  room  left  in 
you  for  any  other  happiness  ?  Of  any  other  kind, 
I  mean." 

His  lowered  voice  took  for  the  first  time  since 
they  had  been  together  the  tone  which  no  woman 
can  mistake.  Carolyn's  eyes  fled  before  the  con- 
centration of  his. 

"  If  the  little  fellow  should  live —  could  you  not 
bear  any  more  joy?  Would  that  exhaust  your 
capacity  ?  You  could  be  very  happy,  you  know. 
Power  to  be  glad  is  measured  by  power  to  suffer. 
And  you—" 

He  stopped.  Carolyn  lifted  her  trembling  face. 
Before  she  could  check  herself  her  innermost,  ut- 
termost soul  sprang  to  her  lips. 

"  His  poor  father  ! "  she  said.  "  His  poor  father ! " 

The  doctor  did  not  answer.  He  regarded  her 
solemnly.  The  child  waked,  calling  faintly,  and  the 
two  returned  to  the  sickroom  together 

The  doctor  did  not  leave  it  again  until  morn- 
ing. He  expelled  the  mother  from  the  room 
peremptorily,  ordered  her  to  go  to  sleep,  and  him- 

288 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

self  watched  the  night  out.  When  Carolyn  came 
back,  the  June  morning  was  in  the  room.  Birds 
were  singing  everywhere.  The  pale,  pearl-pink 
dawn  tinged  the  cheeks  of  the  sleeping  child.  His 
forehead  was  moist ;  his  curls  lay  close  upon  it 
in  pretty  rings.  One  hand  closed  about  the  doc- 
tor's finger.  The  physician  gently  loosened  the 
clasp,  and  rose.  He  stood  shining  against  the  tall, 
black  screen.  He  limped  across  the  room  softly, 
and  took  Mrs.  Dane's  hands  in  both  of  his.  She 
stood  flooded  in  his  emotion  and  her  own. 

"  There  was  a  change  at  three  o'clock,"  he  said, 
"  when  the  tide  turned  to  come  in.  The  worst 
symptoms  are  under  control  of  the  last  remedy.  If 
it  holds  —  if  it  lasts  —  I  think  "  —  he  choked. 

Before  Carolyn  could  speak  he  had  raised  her 
hand  to  his  lips,  and  she  felt  them  quivering  upon  it. 

The  doctor  did  not  watch  the  next  night,  but  he 
did  not  leave  the  house.  To  Mrs.  Dane's  sugges- 
tion that  he  should  occupy  a  comfortable  bed  in 
one  of  her  empty  rooms  (for  he  was  wasted  with 
vigil)  he  returned  a  quick  refusal,  and  went  down- 
stairs. 

"  I  'm  all  right  on  the  office  sofa,"  he  said.  "  I 
shall  stay  there,  as  I  have  done  before." 

He  slept,  and  heavily,  for  no  emergency  dis- 
turbed him.  The  child  fared  well.  Carolyn  took 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 


her  turn  at  watching,  but  was  scarcely  needed. 
Joyce  passed  from  one  sane,  sweet  sleep  to  another, 
and  with  the  second  daybreak  his  mouth  curled 
into  a  smile,  and  from  it  the  dearest  word  in  the 
world  stole  out  quite  distinctly:  — 

"  Mum  —  mumma?  " 

Carolyn  dared  not  kiss,  and  could  not  cry,  but 
she  lay  upon  the  ragged  elbow  of  her  white 
gown,  and  put  her  cheek  to  his.  When  the  doctor 
came  in  she  rose  and  stood, —  a  statue  of  rapture. 
She  could  have  knelt  at  his  feet,  and  knew  that 
she  could.  Perhaps  he  had  some  consciousness  of 
what  was  thrilling  in  her,  for  he  extended  his 
hand  involuntarily,  as  if  to  check  the  expression 
of  her  gratitude. 

The  June  day  had  a  celestial  gentleness.  The 
sunrise  warmed  without  the  window  and  within 
the  room.  The  child  put  out  his  little  fingers  as  if 
he  would  grasp  the  light,  laughed  softly,  and  slept 
again.  The  doctor  moved  unsteadily  towards  the 
bed. 

Now,  at  that  moment,  the  collie  came  thumping 
up  the  stairs,  and  Mrs.  Dane,  fearing  the  effect  of 
the  disturbance  in  the  sickroom,  hurried  out  to 
send  the  dog  away.  This  proved  to  be  a  matter 
of  some  moments.  It  was  necessary  to  persuade 
Clyde  or  to  convince  him  that  he  was  not  wanted 
(never  under  any  circumstances  an  easy  task),  and 

290 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

in  the  end  she  was  obliged  to  take  him  by  the 
collar  and  tug  him  downstairs.  When  she  returned, 
stepping  without  sound  in  her  knit  woolen  slip- 
pers, the  doctor  was  sitting  in  her  place  upon  the 
empty  side  of  the  bed.  He  did  not  see  her;  he 
did  not  hear  her;  and  as  she  stood  upon  the 
threshold,  hesitating,  she  perceived  that  his  arm 
had  crept  beneath  the  child,  and  that  his  tears  were 
storming  upon  the  pillow.  Faintly  to  her  ears 
there  came  these  smothered  words :  — 

"Joy!  Joyce!  My  little  boy!  Papas  sonny  boy  /" 
Then  he  lifted  his  wet,  disfigured  face.  Carolyn 
stood  staring  upon  him.  He  gently  withdrew  his 
arm,  got  to  his  feet,  and  made  as  if  he  would  leave 
the  room,  but  fell  back  that  she  might  precede 
him.  In  the  hall  they  confronted  each  other. 

"  Cara !  "  he  said,  "  dont  you  know  me  —  after 
all?" 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

The  great  miracles  of  the  healing  art  are  the  quiet 
ones.  The  boy  was  now  sleeping  more  soundly 
than  at  any  moment  hitherto.  A  deep  renewal  of 
brain  and  body  had  passed  upon  him.  Only  his 
gentle,  even  breathing  could  be  heard  in  the  sol- 
emn stillness  of  the  house. 

The  two  in  the  hall  stood  looking  upon  each 
other,  as  two  might  who  had  met  in  the  after  life 
that  follows  pain,  and  joy,  and  trust,  and  love,  and 
all  the  mere  emotions  of  an  unreal  earth.  Both  were 
as  gray  as  the  dead ;  but  the  woman  in  her  long 
white  gown  acquired  an  added  pallor  from  the 
circumstance  of  it.  She  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  Dr.  Royal,  will  you  repeat  what  you  said  to 
me — just  now?  I  am  pretty  tired,  —  and  you, — 
you  have  not  slept.  We  are  neither  of  us  quite 
ourselves.  I  should  not  wish  to  .  .  .  wrong  you 
...  in  any  way." 

She  uttered  the  words  gently,  as  one  speaks  to 
a  person  mentally  confused.  It  was  plain  to  him 
that  her  instinct  was  to  treat  him  as  though  he  had 
given  utterance  to  some  temporary  but  unpardon- 
able hallucination. 

292 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO    PART 

"  I  have  said  it,"  he  replied  with  a  terrible  brevity. 
"  I  am  your  husband.  I  am  Chanceford  Dane." 

She  retreated  from  him  with  an  evasive,  pitying 
glance. 

"  My  husband  —  you  know  that — is  dead.  He 
is  buried  in  Balsam  Cemetery.  I  put  flowers  on  his 
grave  the  day  that  Joyce  —  that  Joyce —  Go  and 
rest!  "  she  urged  compassionately.  "  You  have  ex- 
hausted yourself  —  for  our  sake.  You  are  starving 
for  sleep.  Go  —  go,  and  feed  the  famine  of  your 
brain.  Then  —  " 

"  Only  one  thing  can  feed  my  famine,"  he  made 
answer  to  her.  "  I  am  your  husband.  I  am  your 
husband,  Chanceford  Dane.  I  know  that  I  have 
forfeited  my  right  to  be  believed.  You  must  do 
as  you  choose  about  that.  But,  as  God  lives,  I  am 
telling  you  the  truth.  That  poor  fellow  yonder  in 
the  churchyard  .  .  .  whom  you  cried  over  that 
day  when  you  took  the  flowers  ...  is  my  little 
brother  Clay." 

"  Come  downstairs,"  said  Carolyn,  quietly.  "  I 
will  call  Kathleen  to  stay  with  Joyce.  Get  on  the 
office  sofa,  and  sleep,  Dr.  Royal.  You  must,  —  do 
you  see?  You  must!  It  is  more  necessary  than 
you  understand." 

"If  you  call  Kathleen  —  just  yet — I  shall  tell 
her.  I  shall  tell  everybody.  Cara !  stand  where  you 
are  and  listen  to  me.    I  will  speak  ...  at  last.    I 

293 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

tell  you  I  will  speak,  and  you  shall  listen.  Cara ! 
Cava!  Look  at  me.  Don't  turn  away  so  soon. 
Look  back.  Lift  your  eyes.  Don't  you  know  me 
in  spite  of  all?  Don't  you  see  anything  about  me 
that  you  can  recognize  if  you  try,  —  if  you  should 
want  to  try  ? " 

In  a  silence  cruder  than  any  words  she  shook 
her  head. 

"  Oh,  I  know  what  a  wreck  I  am !  A  shattered, 
grotesque  thing;  a  mask;  a  gargoyle!  Even  my 
voice  —  if  my  voice  had  been  left  me,  I  could  not 
have  carried  it  out.  But  I  thought  —  I  hoped  — 
if  I  told  you  (I  always  meant  to  tell  you,  when  I 
dared)  that  you  would  find  something  in  me  that 
would  remind  you  .  .  .  Cara!  Look!  Look  again! 
Don't  you  see?  Cant  you  see?  " 

She  turned  her  head  and  obeyed  him  slowly. 
Her  eyes  searched  his  marred  face,  lighted  now 
by  brilliant,  insomniac  eyes;  traversed  his  gaunt 
figure;  took  note  of  every  physical  defect  and 
deformity  that  had  ravaged  him.  Not  a  feature, 
not  a  contour  recalled  the  beauty,  the  grace,  the 
scintillant  face  and  frame  which  had  held  the 
debonair  soul  of  Chanceford  Dane.  She  did  not 
speak. 

"  Now  I  understand,"  he  said,  "  how  dead  people 
feel.  I  never  did  before.  They  come  into  their  old 
homes ;  nobody  knows  it ;  nobody  knows  them.   I 

294 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

have  always  pitied  them.  They  must  be  an  uncom- 
fortable lot  for  a  while." 

Something  in  the  whimsical  words  —  what  was 
it? — for  a  startled  instant  reminded  her  of  Dane. 
That  glint  in  his  dark  eyes,  burning  through  the 
solemnity  of  the  situation,  stabbed  her  like  a  fine 
electric  needle.  Chanceford  never  tolerated  the 
intense;  he  always  threw  it  off  as  soon  as  he  could. 
Few  tragedies  but  yielded  to  his  sense  of  humor. 
His  wilful  voracity  for  joy  had  remained  with  her 
as  the  most  memorable  thing  about  him.  In  the 
forced  merrimentof  that  momentsomething leaped 
from  the  being  of  the  man  to  hers.  She  received 
a  current  of  mystery  charged  with  a  thousand  volts 
of  emotion.  It  seemed  to  her  that  either  ecstasy 
or  annihilation  hung  upon  the  instant.  Old  re- 
membered hours,  old  forgotten  things,  closed  and 
crashed  about  her.  Smitten  half  with  terror,  half 
with  joy,  her  lifted  face  received  the  impact  of  his 
personality.     Her  brain  began  to  reel. 

"  It  is  not  he  who  is  delirious,"  she  thought. 
"  It  must  be  I." 

She  thrust  up  her  hands  to  clasp  her  forehead, 
as  one  does  in  a  moment  of  unbearable  mental 
confusion.  As  she  did  so  she  felt  one  of  them 
seized.  Before  she  could  withdraw  it,  he  had  kissed 
her  arm.  His  lips  sought  and  found  the  ragged 
elbow  of  her  white  gown,  where  love,  and  grief, 

295 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

and  watching,  had  worn  the  muslin  through, — 
and  there  rested  on  her,  warm  and  shrinking. 

Carolyn  gasped  and  swayed.  The  disfigured  face, 
the  crippled  body,  the  shattered  voice  had  not  be- 
trayed him.  His  flesh  had  become  the  prison  of  his 
soul,  and  hers  had  given  her  no  key.  But  before  his 
touch  the  heart  of  the  wife  stopped.  She  swayed 
and  fell.  She  was  not  a  fainting  woman,  but  for 
this  second,  as  for  that  first  time  when  Dane  took 
her  from  the  Country  Club  after  Clyde  had  turned 
upon  his  tormentor,  she  drifted  away.  He  caught 
and  laid  her  upon  the  divan  where  they  had  been 
sitting.  When  her  mind  anchored,  she  was  lying 
on  the  bed  in  her  husband's  old  room,  —  that  which 
he  had  occupied  when  their  estrangement  began. 
She  herself  had  always  retained  the  one  that  they 
had  shared. 

The  doctor  was  sitting  beside  her,  and  Kathleen 
was  in  the  room.  It  was  now  broad,  bright  day. 
The  child  called  from  the  sickroom. 

"Go,  Kathleen!"  the  doctor  said.  "Sit  with 
him  until  I  come.  Mrs.  Dane  has  had  an  ill  turn. 
She  has  watched  too  long." 

The  two  were  left  in  a  silence  which  ached 
about  them.  She  could  not,  and  he  did  not  break 
it.  He  did  not  touch  her  again.  Presently  he  said, 
as  if  nothing  had  happened,  "  Lie  quietly.  Stay 
where  you  are.  I  must  go  to  Joy." 

296 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

At  the  old,  familiar  baby  name,  forbidden  to 
her  lips  since  the  year  her  husband  died,  the  color 
splashed  on  Carolyn's  ashen  face.  She  struggled 
up  against  the  pillows  and  watched  the  doctor 
limping  from  the  room.  Her  head  swam  so  that 
she  laid  it  back  and  closed  her  starting  eyes. 

The  doctor  remained  with  the  child  and  did 
not  immediately  return ;  when  he  did  so,  his  morn- 
ing office  hour  had  struck,  and  patients  were  clam- 
oring for  him  downstairs.  Kathleen  was  in  the 
room  with  a  breakfast  tray.  The  girl's  presence 
checked  the  natural  movement  of  a  tremendous 
situation.  Carolyn  said,  "  I  will  go  at  once  and  sit 
with  Joyce." 

And  the  doctor  answered,  "  Are  you  able  ?  Are 
you  sure  ? "  as  if  nothing  had  occurred. 

He  went  to  his  morning's  work  methodically. 
The  day  set  in  like  any  other  day,  and  moved 
prosaically  along.  Nannie  Hops  ran  in  to  ask 
what  she  could  do.  Mrs.  Marriot  stopped  in  driv- 
ing by,  to  offer  her  horses,  "  if  Mrs.  Dane  would 
take  a  mouthful  of  air."  Mrs.  Marriot  had  invited  a 
phalanx  of  the  Salvation  Army  to  a  lawn  party  at 
her  house  that  afternoon  ;  but  the  horses  would  be 
free  till  luncheon ;  she  urged  the  ride  upon  Mrs. 
Dane.  Sterling  Hart  came  over  anxiously  and  early 
to  inquire  for  the  child.  Carolyn  lay  upon  the  little 
fellow's  bed,  and  denied  herself  to  all  her  world. 

297 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

It  occurred  to  her  that  she  had  to  reckon  with  it, 
sometime,  somehow.  It  suggested  itself  to  her 
that,  if  the  claim  which  this  man  of  mystery  put 
upon  her  were  genuine,  the  world's  attitude  to- 
wards it  could  not  be  ignored ;  perhaps  not  even 
scorned.  Her  whirling  brain  already  perceived 
that  she  was  like  a  swimmer  caught  in  a  long, 
deep  seine  —  entangled,  whatever  happened,  al- 
most beyond  hope  of  rescue ;  she  could  not  sink ; 
she  could  not  rise ;  the  meshes  were  tight  upon 
her  hands,  her  feet,  and  strangling  at  her  throat. 
She  saw  that,  whatever  course  she  should  pursue, 
she  might  be  forced  into  a  position  either  false  or 
fatal.  The  necessity  of  concealment,  even  for  the 
sake  of  throwing  off  concealment,  was  hateful  to 
her.  Her  instinctive  candor,  her  translucent  na- 
ture, recoiled  violently.  In  all  her  sweet,  white 
life  there  had  never  been  anything  in  her  conduct 
which  she  must  disguise,  or  allow-  to  appear  as 
other  than  it  was.  It  seemed  to  her  intolerable 
that  she  must  sustain  for  one  hour  a  position  she 
might,  or  might  not  —  God  knew  !  —  be  able  to 
explain  to  all  the  world.  At  first  the  woman  was 
stronger  than  the  widow  in  her. 

As  the  day  progressed,  her  consciousness  of 
danger  surmounted  almost  every  other  sense 
of  her  situation,  except  that  of  the  insolence  of 
events.  This  grew  into  something  incredible,  when 

298 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

hour  upon  hour  moved  on,  and  the  impending 
interview  between  herself  and  Dr.  Royal  was  frus- 
trated at  every  point.  Nannie  returned  and  came 
upstairs  without  permission.  Nannie  had  great 
news  ;  for  she  was  engaged  to  her  dentist  after  all. 
Carolyn  listened  dully.  Nannie  was  grieved  at  her 
friend's  attitude  towards  the  most  wonderful  thine 
in  the  world ;  her  pretty  New  England  profile 
drooped  when  Mrs.  Dane  said  apathetically :  — 

"  Why  should  a  woman  ever  marry  anybody  ?  " 

Downstairs  Sterling  Hart  sat  stolidly  waiting 
for  a  rift  in  his  cousin's  obdurate  seclusion.  Joyce 
was  restless,  and  only  an  omnipresent  mother 
could  suffice  him.  Then  a  mortal  case  demanded 
the  doctor.  It  was  afternoon  before  he  could  hew 
his  way  through  the  blockade  of  daily  life,  and 
seek  her ;  as  he  did. 

Now,  peremptorily,  he  put  Kathleen  on  duty  in 
the  sickroom,  and  in  a  tone  that  admitted  of  no 
reprieve  he  said :  — 

"  Mrs.  Dane  must  rest.  I  shall  take  Mrs.  Dane 
downstairs  for  a  while." 

It  seemed  terrible  to  Carolyn  that  he  should  be 
giving  reasons  and  excuses,  keeping  up  the  sub- 
terfuge in  teeth  of  such  delusion  as  possessed 
him.  She  obeyed  him  reluctantly.  He  led  her  into 
his  office  and  shut  (she  noticed  that  he  locked) 
the  door.  Then  his  formidable  manner  fell  from 

299 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

him  instantly  and  utterly,  and  he  stood  before  her 
like  a  culprit.  She  could  see  that  he  drooped  in 
every  nerve  and  muscle. 

"  Well,"  he  began,  "  what  have  you  to  say  ?  " 
"  I  am  here  to  listen,  not  to  speak,"  said  Caro- 
lyn, coldly. 

"  You  should  be  merciful  —  if  nothing  more." 
"You  must  be  explicit  —  if  nothing  more." 
"  I  cannot  be  less.  I  wish  to  be  more.  If  you 
would  give  me  a  chance  —  "  He  stood  panting. 

"It  is  an  incredible  claim  —  that  which  you 
make.  You  do  not  seem  to  realize  how  unbeliev- 
able it  is,  though  a  woman  .  .  .  even  if  she  wranted 
to  believe  it.  You  do  not  seem  to  understand  the 
position  in  wrhich  you  place  me  —  you,  whoever 
you  are,  whatever  you  are.  Your  story  is  so  .  .  . 
unreal,  so  unlikely.  On  the  face  of  it,  why  should 
I  believe  it  ?  Nothing  in  fiction  or  on  the  stage 
could  be  more  unnatural." 

"  Life  is  more  extraordinary  than  any  replica  of 
life,"  he  answered  quickly.  "  You  should  know 
that." 

"  Oh,  I  know,"  she  returned  wearily,  "  that  such 
things  sometimes  happen.  I  have  heard  of  them, 
of  course  —  now  and  then.  I  never  knew  anybody 
to  whom  they  did  happen." 

All  the  conventional  in  Carolyn's  nature  rose 
to  the  surface  ;  family  position  and  tradition  ;  ex- 

300 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

perience  of  the  commonplace  and  the  accepted  — 
these  comfortable  facts  only  one  thing  had  ever  dis- 
turbed. Her  father's  death,  and  the  wretched  way 
of  it,  had,  in  a  measure,  prepared  her  to  under- 
stand that  fate  did  not  swerve  from  the  third  rail 
of  its  terrible  track  for  East  Shore  society.  Sud- 
denly she  felt  herself  old  and  disillusioned.  It 
occurred  to  her  that  anything  might  happen  to 
her  —  mystery,  melodrama,  or  a  preposterous 
and  tragic  joy. 

"  I  do  not  present  my  claim  without  evidence," 
said  the  doctor,  abruptly.  "  I  have  all  .  .  .  that  sort 
of  thing." 

He  unlocked  a  drawer  in  his  desk  and  tore  out 
a  mass  of  papers ;  these  he  tossed  about  and  laid 
in  her  lap. 

"  My  diploma  is  here.  See  !  The  certificate  of 
the  medical  examiners  in  this  state  (I  had  the 
notion  to  get  that,  too,  after  I  graduated) ;  army 
records,  journals,  personal  accounts;  an  order 
from  my  surgeon  to  come  and  help  him  in  the 
hospital.  They  found  out  that  I  knew  something, 
and  kept  me  at  it.  Letters  and  more  letters  ! 
These  are  from  Balsam  patients.  That  is  from 
Sterling  Hart.  And  here  — "  From  a  carefully 
sealed  package  he  broke  the  wax  and  laid  in  her 
hand  her  own  letters  written  to  him  while  he  was 
at  the  front.  "  There  was  a  great  deal  more  of  it, 

301 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

but  it  got  lost  in  the  scuffle.  These  I  managed  to 
hold  on  to  through  everything." 

"  These  have  not  been  in  the  water,"  said  Caro- 
lyn, quickly,  "  and  you  were,  a  good  while." 

"  That  is  clever  of  you,"  he  said,  smiling  drear- 
ily. "  A  man  could  not  fool  you  if  he  wanted  to." 

He  threw  his  head  back  with  a  merry  gesture 
which  it  almost  seemed  to  her  she  could  recall. 

"  No,  I  did  not  trust  my  papers  to  that  coaster ; 
in  November,  too.  I  had  sent  them  North  before 
then.  But  that  is  the  least  of  it." 

Carolyn  rose  suddenly  and  dropped  everything 
from  her  lap  except  her  own  letters  ;  these  her  fin- 
gers instinctively  clutched. 

"  When  a  man  is  dead,"  she  said, "  under  such  con- 
ditions his  papers  may  fall  into  anybody's  hands." 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  doctor,  dully.  He  turned, 
and  limped  to  the  window. 

"  If  I  could  take  advice !  "  cried  Carolyn.  "  If  I 
could  tell  anybody !  If  I  could  talk  with  Cousin 
Sterling  —  " 

"  Talk  with  your  Cousin  Sterling !  "  urged  the 
doctor,  wheeling.  "Show  him  everything.  Tell 
him  everything ;  he  has  seen  it  all ;  he  has  heard 
it  all.  He  is  satisfied  with  the  proofs  of  my  claim. 
He  does  n't  take  me  for  a  worse  scoundrel  than 
I  am." 

"  Does  n't  he  ? "  asked  Carolyn,  stupidly. 
302 


THOUGH  LIFE   US   DO   PART 

Her  hand  crept  to  her  pocket  and  hid  her  let- 
ters there.  They  were  few  and  worn  and  yellow. 
Her  fingers  closed  upon  them  convulsively. 

"  Don't  you  see  ?  "  she  gasped.  "  Don't  you  see 
what  this  means  ?  If  this  is  true  ?  If  you  are  what 
you  say  you  are  ?  ...  If  a  man  treats  a  woman  — 
treats  a  wife  like  that  —  why,  you  have  deserted 
me  !  "  She  broke  into  dry,  dreadful  sobs.  "  Oh,  I 
had  rather  you  had  died !  I  had  rather  you  had 
died!" 

She  whirled,  and  turned  the  key,  and  fled  from 
him. 

All  the  rest  of  that  day  she  denied  herself  to 
him.  But  for  the  illness  of  the  boy  he  was  sure 
she  would  have  left  the  house.  Only  the  tenuous 
thread  of  that  little  life  held  the  two  beneath  the 
same  roof.  Had  it  not  been  for  the  child,  he  felt 
that  she  would  have  judged  him  without  defense. 

In  the  evening  he  sent  up  these  words  to 
her:  — 

"  It  is  necessary  that  I  should  finish  my  story. 
Let  us  have  it  over  with  at  once.  After  that,  do 
with  me  as  you  will.  Leave  Joy  with  Kathleen, 
and  come  down." 

The  message  was  written  in  his  own  hand,  and 
signed  C.  D.  She  obeyed  the  summons,  as  he  had 
thought  she  would.  She  did  not  speak.  They  sat 
down  on  opposite  sides  of  the  office  table. 

303 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

"  Have  you  sent  for  Hart  ? "  he  began. 

"  No." 

"  Are  you  going  to  ?  " 

"  Not  yet.  Nobody,  no  third  person,  can  help 
us.  When  I  have  heard  what  you  have  to  say  I 
will  decide  what  I  ought  to  do." 

He  perceived,  or  he  thought  he  did,  that  Caro- 
lyn's whole  nature  was  suffering  from  something 
akin  to  that  which  surgeons  call  shock  when  they 
deal  with  the  effects  of  a  physical  accident.  She 
was  both  gashed  and  stunned.  Her  gentlest  in- 
stincts were  in  a  state  of  collapse.  Her  excitement 
was  visibly  increasing,  and  the  doctor's  composure 
grew  as  hers  declined. 

"  I  will  make  it  as  short  as  I  can,"  he  said 
quietly.  "  It  is  n't  a  very  long  story,  anyhow.  But  it 
is  a  little  complicated,  like  a  novel  where  the  plot 
has  run  away  with  the  hero.  You  are  perfectly 
right ;  we  will  not  clip  the  truth ;  we  will  have  it 
down  to  the  roots.  I  did  desert  you,  if  you  choose 
to  call  it  so.  I  don't  suppose  it  is  possible  to  con- 
vince you  that  I  did  not  mean  to  do  it  at  the 
first.  .  .  . 

"  I  was  a  pretty  miserable  chap,  anyhow  you 
look  at  it,  when  I  enlisted.  A  man  is,  when  he 
goes  wrong;  there  isn't  much  fun  in  it.  I  had 
gone  wrong,  but  then,  you  see,  I  'd  been  wronged. 
It  was  n't  just  as  you  thought  it  was.  A  man  can't 

304 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

explain  at  the  expense  of  a  woman  ;  that 's  the 
code.  I  'm  not  so  sure  it  is  n't  a  damnable  code 
on  occasions." 

"  When  my  husband  was  dead,  and  everybody 
thought  she  was  dying  —  a  woman  confessed  to 
me,"  interrupted  Carolyn,  "  that  I  had  been  .  .  . 
mistaken." 

"  Oh,  she  did,  did  she  ? "  queried  the  doctor.  "  I 
wondered  what  she  wanted  of  you."  He  showed 
but  little  interest  in  the  matter,  and  drummed 
upon  the  table  with  his  long,  thin  fingers. 

"  I  got  to  feeling  pretty  bitter,  and  all  that — ■ 
thought  about  marriage  the  way  a  man  does 
when  his  has  failed.  I  don't  deny  —  I  won't  keep 
back  any  part  of  the  price  of  it  all  —  that  I  had 
times  of  thinking  I'd  like  to  get  out  of  it;  for 
your  sake  more  than  for  mine.  I  used  to  reason : 
'  She  would  be  better  off.'  Then  poor  Clay  turned 
up  in  that  accursed  war  —  it  was  just  one  of  the 
desperate  chances  that  we  met  at  all  —  and  that 
gave  me  something  else  to  think  about.  I  don't 
know  that  I  mentioned  Clay,  did  I  ?  But  I  wrote 
you,  did  n't  I  ?  I  meant  to." 

11  Sometimes,"  said  Carolyn,  cautiously,  "  I  had 
letters  from  my  husband." 

"  You  see  Clay  had  that  white  lock,  too,"  pro- 
ceeded the  doctor,  as  if  he  had  not  heard  her. 
"  The  older  he  grew,  the  more  it  seemed  to  show, 

305 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO    PART 


for  he  never  got  gray  at  all.  He  looked  a  great 
deal  like  me,  too,  when  he  outgrew  his  youth,  his 
first  youth.  The  resemblance  was  very  marked.  I 
would  n't  have  believed  it  possible.  We  had  three 
or  four  good  hours  together,  in  spite  of  all,  at  odd 
times.  He  was  terribly  shattered  .  .  .  poor  Clay! 
He  went  down  at  San  Juan.  He  was  in  the 
charge.  And  so  was  I.  I  was  half  blown  to  atoms. 
It  was  n't  the  wreck  so  much;  that  only  finished 
what  the  shell  began.  But  I  was  nearly  shot  to 
pieces.  You  see  I  was  hit  in  the  throat  (that  did 
my  voice  up) ;  but  my  head  was  the  worst  —  de- 
lirious for  I  don't  know  how  long.  Nobody  knows  ; 
it  settled  into  amnesia — one  of  those  cases  of 
alteration  of  personality,  when  a  fellow  forgets 
who  he  is.  After  hospital,  I  went  —  God  knows 
where ;  and  I  did  —  God  knows  what.  My  opinion 
is  I  sent  the  package  North  about  that  time. 

"  One  day  I  looked  up  and  saw  that  I  was  work- 
ing in  an  orange  grove  in  Florida.  There  were 
the  everglades,  and  the  darkies,  and  the  oranges 
blazing  on  the  squat  trees.  I  went  into  the  house 
and  asked  the  man  who  owned  it  —  he  was  a  nice 
fellow,  graduated  at  Princeton  —  if  he  had  any 
Northern  papers.  He  kept  them  on  file,  the  way 
people  do,  you  know,  in  dull  places,  where  no- 
thing happens,  and  I  read  them  every  one.  That  's 
how  I  found  it  out.  I  read  about  my  funeral  in  Bal- 

306 


THOUGH    LIFE   US   DO   PART 

sam  Cemetery,  and  all  the  rest  of  it.  '  Well,'  I 
said,  'she  is  rid  of  me  now.  It's  the  best  thing 
could  have  happened  to  her.'  Besides"  .  .  . 

"Besides  what?"  asked  Cara,  with  dry,  judi- 
cial eyes. 

"  Why,  I  was  still  drinking,  that 's  the  upshot 
of  it.  Army  life  does  n't  help  a  fellow  that  way. 
And  then  I  'd  had  a  pretty  hard  time  —  not  that 
I  want  to  excuse  myself,  —  for  anything." 

"  Go  on,"  said  Mrs.  Dane.  She  sat  with  her 
face  averted  from  him  ;  the  white  splashes  that  had 
settled  about  her  mouth  were  extending  slowly. 
The  feeling  recurred  to  her  that  he  and  she  might 
have  been  two  ghosts  comparing  notes  on  the  his- 
tory of  a  closed  existence. 

"  I  said,  '  I  won't  go  back  to  be  a  burden  to  her 

—  to  disgrace  her.  Since  I  'm  dead,  I  '11  stay  dead 

—  awhile,  anyhow.'  It  was  quite  a  time  before  it 
occurred  to  me  that  I  might  ...  I  might  dis- 
grace you  in  some  other  way.  You  are  so  young, 
so  beautiful,  still.  And  I  knew  how  a  man  would 
feel  about  you.  One  day  I  came  to  my  senses, 
what  there  was  left  of  them,  and  I  said,  '  You  've 
been  a  fool  long  enough.  Go  home.  Go  North 
the  first  chance  and  tell  her.'  I  meant  to,  Cara! 
I  meant  to,  from  my  soul ! " 

11  Go  on,"  repeated  Carolyn.  "  I  am  listening.  I 
hear  everything  you  say." 

307 


THOUGH   LIFE  US   DO   PART 


"  There  's  one  thing,"  interpolated  the  doctor, 
"  before  I  forget  it.  It  seems  to  belong  just  here. 
I  had  been  studying  —  that 's  the  curious  part  of 
it  —  all  that  while  I  was  dissociated  from  my  per- 
sonality —  that  is,  when  I  did  n't  know  myself. 
Anything  else  I  knew  except  my  own  history.  I 
had  forgotten  that  I  ever  practiced  medicine;  but 
the  odd  thing  was,  I  meant  to  practice  medicine ; 
I  studied  all  my  spare  moments.  That  surgeon  I 
spoke  of  had  lent  me  some  books.  He  was  n't  like 
the  rest;  he  belonged  to  the  new  faith;  they  slip 
through  sometimes,  even  among  the  cut-and-dried, 
even  in  the  army.  I  studied  his  materia  medica.  I 
read,  and  read,  and  read.  You  know  how  I  used 
to  hate  my  profession  ?  How  I  used  to  scribble, 
and  play  the  violin,  and  hanker  after  a  literary 
life,  and  all  that  nonsense?  You  could  n't  under- 
stand—  no  layman  could — how  I  despaired  of 
curing  the  sick  on  the  basis  where  I  stood.  I 
never  respected  my  own  materia  medica.  When 
I  found  one  that  I  could  trust,  and  found  that  it 
did  what  it  claimed  to  be  able  to  do,  I  began  over 
again  in  dead  earnest.  In  spite  of  everything,  it 
has  been  a  joy  to  knuckle  down  to  work.  I  've 
found  something  —  got  something  left  in  my 
spoiled  life;  even  if  I  have  lost  —  you." 

He  lifted  his  head  with  a  dignity  before  which 
Carolyn's  drooped;  but  she  did  not  speak. 

308 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

"  The  worst  of  it  was  the  dipsomania,  Cara.  A 
man  can  find  a  lost  memory — a  lost  mind,  if  you 
will  —  more  easily  than  he  can  lose  a  fixed  appe- 
tite. It  fluctuated  as  all  disorders  do.  There  were 
times,  —  I  will  not  keep  anything  from  you,  girl, — 
there  may  be  yet.  I  can't  guarantee  that  the  war 
is  over  in  me.  All  I  can  say  is,  I  've  found  my 
colors,  and  I  've  learned  how  to  fight ;  how  not  to 
run  under  fire,  and  the  tactics  of  it.  When  I  came 
North  in  that  coaster  I  had  made  up  my  mind 
what  I  would  do.  The  first  thing  I  meant  to  try 
my  luck  with  you ;  I  meant  to  tell  you  the  whole 
story.  After  that  —  " 

"  I  should  like  to  know  where  you  sent  the 
papers  ? "  asked  Carolyn,  without  a  sign  of  emo- 
tion. 

"  Why,  to  Dipdown.  I  expressed  them  to  that 
old  hotel  —  you  know — where  we  went — " 

A  low,  choking  sound,  half  a  cry  and  half  suffo- 
cation, escaped  her. 

"  They  were  left  there  indefinitely  to  be  called 
for.  It  was  the  strangest  thing.  I  had  forgotten 
everything  else  —  who  I  was  and  where  I  lived; 
but  I  remembered  Dipdown.  I  remembered  that 
cottage  near  the  hotel,  with  the  open  fire  and  the 
roses.  When  the  time  came,  I  went  up  and  got 
the  things.  They  had  the  address  of  Charles 
Royal  on  them ;    I  had  got  the  name  fastened  on 

309 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO    PART 

me,  somehow,  so  I  held  to  it.  I  went  into  a  fish- 
erman's house  there,  one  of  the  mountain  fisher- 
men, and  caught  trout  for  a  living.  I  fished  and 
lived  out  of  doors,  and  drank  cold  water  and 
warm  milk  and  fought  with  beasts  at  Ephesus, 
till  I  got  the  upper  hand  of  myself.  That  was 
after  I  got  out  of  the  Balsam  hospital.  I  have  n't 
touched  a  drop  since  I  came  from  Dipdown.  I 
don't  pretend  to  say  .  .  .  but  I  have  n't,  so  far. 
That 's  all.  You  can  form  your  own  opinion  of 
my  chances." 

"  I  can  form  my  opinion  of  your  conduct !  "  said 
Carolyn,  suddenly  slipping  into  a  bitter  wail.  "  A 
man  who  is  shipwrecked  at  his  wife's  feet  —  know- 
ing everything  —  all  she  has  suffered  —  and  does 
not  tell  her,  does  not  tell  her  even  then !  " 

u  You  shuddered  when  you  saw  me,"  urged  the 
doctor,  piteously.  "  I  was  pretty  far  gone.  But  if  I 
/iad  been  dead  I  should  have  known  you.  You 
came  up  and  looked  at  me.  I  felt  that  I  was  hor- 
rible to  you  —  the  way  I  looked,  the  flotsam  that 
I  was;  I  lost  my  pluck.  I  said,  '  I  can't  risk  it  — 
not  now.'  I  suppose  I  was  a  coward.  I  'd  rather 
have  faced  the  charge  at  San  Juan  again  than  to 
face  you.  Now  that  I  have  done  it,"  added  the 
"  sorryfool  man,"  with  conviction,  "  I  don't  know 
but  I  should  have  stood  a  better  chance  then. 
Should  I  ?  " 

310 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

11  Go  on,"  repeated  Carolyn.  "  Finish  your  story. 
Explain  everything  you  can." 

"  There  is  n't  much  left  of  it,"  replied  the  doc- 
tor, shrinking.  "  I  have  covered  the  most  neces- 
sary points,  have  n't  I  ?  After  all,  it  is  n't  any- 
thing I  can  say  that  is  going  to  weigh  with  you. 
You  know  I  am  naturally  an  outright,  downright 
fellow.  I  did  n't  realize  when  I  got  myself  into 
this  scrape  how  hard  it  would  be  to  play  a  role. 
There  have  been  some  dangerous  breaks.  Douce 
Marriot  was  very  shrewd  —  you  know  she  is  ;  she 
half  suspected  me  of  being  an  adventurer  while 
she  was  getting  over  the  pneumonia.  Then  Nan- 
nie—  you  remember,  don't  you?  I  left  my  old 
violin  at  Solomon's  —  forgot  to  take  it  away  when 
we  were  married.  One  night  I  came  across  it  in 
the  hall  closet  where  I  hung  my  coats.  I  could 
not  help  it ;  I  took  it  out,  and  began  to  play —  it 
was  very  rash.  I  played  that  old  thing  you  used 
to  like  so  much, — 

1  Oh,  promise  me  that  you  will  take  my  hand, 
The  most  unworthy  in  this  lonely  land.' 

"  She  came  in  and  heard  me,  and  she  stood 
stock  still.  '  That  is  Dr.  Dane's  violin,'  she  said. 
1  Why  do  you  touch  it?  I  would  rather  that  you 
did  n't  touch  it.  Why,  you  play  like  a  dead  man  ! ' 
Nannie  said. 

3n 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

"  Then  there  was  Clyde.  If  he  could  speak  Eng- 
lish he  would  have  given  me  away  a  hundred 
times.  I  don't  think  he  suspected  me  in  the  least, 
drenched  in  all  that  salt  water.  But  when  he  met 
me  on  the  street,  the  day  I  came  home  —  you 
did  n't  see  that.  He  growled  at  first ;  you  know  he 
never  liked  me.  Then  he  screamed,  and  screamed. 
I  thought  he  would  have  knocked  me  over.  After 
that,  he  seemed  to  pity  me. 

"  Then  one  night  I  went  to  town  to  hear  Ster- 
ling Hart  preach,  and  a  fellow  came  in  and  sat 
beside  me,  and  I  saw  that  it  was  Timothy  George. 
He  was  in  the  charge  at  San  Juan,  you  know  — 
perhaps  you  don't  know.  Well,  he  was,  and  I  guess 
he  never  swallowed  the  story.  He  was  in  Clay's 
regiment.  He  tried  to  sound  me  that  night  there 
in  the  church.  But  he  did  n't  make  much  head- 
way; although  my  opinion  is,  he  had  run  across 
me  and  my  scars  in  the  hospital  or  somewhere. 
He  had  never  seen  me  since  my  hair  went  to 
ashes,  and  it  puzzled  him.  I  told  you,  did  n't  I, 
that  when  I  looked  in  the  glass  that  day  in  Flor- 
ida—  the  day  after  I  read  the  papers — I  found 
it  snow-white  ?  I  don't  know  when  it  turned,  any 
more  than  you  do.  Timothy  told  your  cousin 
whatever  notions  he  had  got  in  his  head,  and 
Hart  came  down  on  me  —  that  night  in  the  office, 
you  remember.  I  had  to  tell  him  everything  — 

312 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

there  wasn't  any  other  way  out  of  it.  I  never 
meant  that  anybody  should  hear  it  first.  I  meant 
to  give  you  your  rights,  so  far  as  that  went.  It  was 
the  only  one  I  had  left  to  give  you.  Is  there  any- 
thing more  you  want  to  know  ?  "  asked  the  doc- 
tor. He  rose  abruptly  and  stood  before  her. 

It  was  terrible  to  her  to  see  that  he  winced  so, 
as  if  her  very  being  had  become  a  naming  sword 
that  hewed  him  down.  His  voice  sank. 

"  What  I  have  been  saying,  Cara,  is  the  least 
of  it  all.  These  are  little  things  between  yourself 
and  me.  They  only  go  about  so  far  to  prove  my 
claim,  and  there  they  stop.  There  are  —  other 
things  that  I  could  say.  Before  the  courts  of 
heaven  I  could  plead  my  case,  but  in  earth  or 
heaven  no  living  ear  but  yours  can  hear  that  evi- 
dence. It  is  not  of  a  nature  that  I  can  force  upon 
you.  When  you  are  ready  to  listen  to  me,  let  me 
know." 

Carolyn  had  risen,  too,  and  stood  staggering 
before  him.  Now  she  thrust  out  both  her  hands 
as  if  he  were  the  judge,  and  she  the  culprit,  and 
so  pleaded  before  him. 

"  Let  me  think !  Oh,  let  me  think !  Give  me 
time  —  a  little  more !  For  that  would  mean  —  for 
that  would  mean  —  "  she  stopped. 

"  Calm  yourself,"  said  the  doctor,  "  Be  as  quiet 
as  you  can.  You  shall  have  all  the  time  you  want. 

3i3 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

I  must  go  up  and  see  Joy  now.  Stay  where  you 
are.   I  will  be  back  presently." 

His  slow,  laborious  step  climbed  the  stairs,  and 
she  heard  it  crossing  the  floor  of  the  child's  room. 
After  a  short  time  he  came  down  and  put  on  his 
hat  and  coat. 

"  He  is  doing  remarkably  well.  He  will  be  quite 
safe  with  you  and  Kathleen.  You  can  telephone 
if  I  am  needed.   I  will  say  good-night." 

She  echoed  the  word  automatically.  "  Do  you 
mean  to  —  leave  me  —  so  ?  " 

"  I  must  either  go  or  stay,"  doggedly  replied 
rthe  man.  She  did  not  answer,  and  he  moved  to- 
wards the  door.  She  did  not  follow  him.  When 
he  opened  the  door,  she  perceived  that  the  shin- 
ing day  had  descended  to  a  stormy  night.  It  was 
raining  hard,  and  drearily.  He  stepped  upon  the 
piazza,  and  put  up  his  umbrella.  She  came  to  the 
threshold  and  remonstrated  ;  something  about  the 
wet,  and  how  tired  out  he  was ;  he  did  not  reply. 
When  he  had  got  down  the  steps,  he  turned  and 
said,  quite  in  a  natural,  every-day  voice :  — 

"  Send  for  your  cousin.  Send  for  Sterling  Hart, 
and  talk  it  over.  He  has  advised  you  all  your  life 
—  remarkably  well.  The  only  time  you  did  n't 
follow  his  judgment  you  married  me.  Whatever 
comes,  I  will  not  be  the  man  to  spoil  your  life  a 
second  time.  You  shall  not  make  another  mis- 

3i4 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

take  if  I  can  help  it.  You  shan't  acknowledge 
me  because  you  pity  me.  Take  your  time,  and 
counsel,  Cara  —  dear." 

He  slipped  into  the  last  word  against  his  will,  it 
seemed,  and  limped  pathetically  away.  Carolyn 
stood  shaken  with  an  irresolution  more  pitiable 
than  his  pride  or  his  despair.  The  heart  of  a 
wounded  woman  goes  by  a  strange  way,  and  the 
man  has  never  lived  who  could  follow  the  route 
of  it. 

"  It's  raining  pretty  hard,"  she  faltered. 

"  Good-night,"  he  gently  said. 

When  he  had  limped  a  little  distance  down  the 
sidewalk,  she  called  him  faintly. 

"Dr.  Royal?  Doctor?  Doctor!" 

But  the  doctor  did  not  turn.  His  uneven  step 
thudded  on  the  gravel  walk,  and  lapsed  from  it. 
Carolyn  shut  the  door  and  crawled  upstairs  to  the 
boy's  room. 

She  got  into  her  white  gown,  and  lay  upon  the 
outside  of  the  bed.  She  looked  at  the  black  screen, 
empty  of  his  presence  who  had  stood  there  shining 
the  night  he  saved  her  child.  Her  confused  eyes 
traced  the  pattern  of  the  gold  embroidery.  This 
was  easier  to  do  than  to  trace  the  workings  of  her 
own  mind  and  heart.  Now  a  tragic  hope,  now  a 
taunting  pride,  swung  her  to  and  fro.  Curious  fears 
came  upon  her;  womanish,  unreasonable  worries. 

3i5 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

Suppose  he  met  with  some  mishap  before  the  morn- 
ing, some  one  of  the  accidents  to  which  physicians 
are  liable,  called  to  emergency  cases  and  driving 
in  the  night  ?  Suppose,  indeed,  he  turned  and  fled 
from  her  again  ?  It  occurred  to  her  that  he  was 
capable  of  it;  it  occurred  to  her  that  she  had  par- 
leyed with  his  forbearance,  with  his  misery,  at  a 
cruel  leisure.  Once,  and  again,  and  again,  she  started 
to  go  to  the  telephone,  and  recall  him  to  the  house. 
She  lay  all  night  with  wide  eyes,  burning  into  the 
darkness.  Once  she  turned  her  arm  and  glanced  at 
the  sleeve  on  her  white  elbow ;  her  lips  crept  to- 
wards the  ragged  spot  that  his  had  touched  ;  when 
she  found  that  they  could  not  reach  it,  her  face 
blazed,  half  with  a  sense  of  humor,  half  of  shame. 
At  the  first  gleam  of  the  dawn  she  ran  downstairs 
and  summoned  him.  He  answered  his  call  bell 
immediately. 

"  He  has  been  listening  for  it,"  she  thought. 
She  tried  to  collect  herself,  but  the  receiver  shook 
in  her  hand. 

"  Doctor,  will  you  come  over  ?  Please  ? " 

"  Is  Joyce  worse  ? " 

"  No.  Oh,  no." 

"  Has  he  slept  well  ?  Is  there  any  return  of  the 
fever  ? " 

"  None  —  none  at  all.  He  has  slept  all  night." 

"  But  you  wish  me  to  come  ? " 
316 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

"  If  you  will  be  so  good." 

"  Very  well,"  he  said  in  his  ordinary  voice.  "  I 
will  get  there  as  soon  as  I  can." 

She  was  waiting  for  him  downstairs ;  it  seemed 
to  her  an  intolerable,  interminable  time  before  he 
came  limping  up  the  walk  in  the  gray-rose  light. 
She  had  opened  the  front  door  softly,  and  stood 
upon  the  threshold  in  her  crumpled,  loving,  mo- 
ther's gown.  They  passed  into  the  office  together, 
and  she  shut  the  door. 

"  Have  you  slept?  "  he  began. 

"  No,  have  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no.  Have  you  communicated  with  your 
cousin  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"  What  does  he  say  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  called  him  up  just  now.  I 
asked  him  to  come  over  by  and  by.  I  asked  him 
not  to  come  till  after  .  .  .  after  I  had  seen  you 
again." 

"Z?z#  you?" 

A  subtle  change  passed  upon  the  doctor's  sleep- 
less face.  His  expression  could  not  have  been 
called  hope,  but  it  had  ceased  to  be  despair. 

"  I  have  been  thinking,"  he  suggested  humbly, 
"  that  I  ought  not  to  intrude  upon  your  conscience 
in  any  way.  You  used  to  have  a  tremendous  New 
England  conscience,  Cara.  You  shan't  deal  with 

3i7 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

me  from  a  sense  of  duty.  And  your  pity  I  won't 
have.  I  could  go  away  again,  Cara  ...  if  you 
would  rather.  I  need  not  stay ;  I  suppose  I  could 
start  in  somewhere  else.  You  need  not  acknow- 
ledge me  unless  you  want  to.  I  could  manage  some- 
how .  .  .  now  I  have  seen  you." 

Then  she  cried  out  upon  him,  and  her  shaken 
voice  was  more  piteous  than  his. 

"  Tell  me !  Tell  me  everything  ...  all  you 
meant  to  say  .  .  .  those  things  that  nobody  else 
could  hear." 

"I  could rit  tell  you,"  he  said  almost  inarticu- 
lately, "  over  there." 

"  No,"  she  said.  "  I  understand  that.  I  know  you 
could  n't." 

"  My  God!"  he  cried,  "would  you  trust  me  so 
far  as  that?  Without  consulting  any  one?  With- 
out—" 

"  I  shall  consult  my  own  soul,"  said  Cara,  sol- 
emnly. "  And  yours.  There  is  no  other  on  this 
earth  whom  it  concerns.  I  will  listen  to  all  you 
have  to  say  to  me  —  " 

"  Then  you  will  listen  here''  he  warned  her. 

He  held  his  arms  out,  all  shaking  as  they  were. 
Without  a  tremor,  as  without  a  blush,  she  stirred 
to  him.  Before  he  could  touch  her,  she  heard  the 
man  sob.  Then  she  began  to  tremble. 

"Oh,  can  you  forgive  me  .  .  .  ever  in  this 
3i8 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

world?  Wait!  Wait!  Before  you  tell  me  any 
more;  before  I  hear  a  word  of  it;  I  must  make 
you  understand  —  I  will  trust  you  first.  And  you 
shall  tell  me  afterwards." 

She  lifted  her  lips  to  his  marred  face. 

In  the  deepening  dawn  they  sat  solemnly  while 
he  gathered  his  strength  to  offer  her  the  sacred 
evidence  that  he  had  promised.  He  began  by  speak- 
ing of  little  things  —  delicate  memories,  trifles  of 
their  courtship,  and  betrothal. 

"We  sat  upon  the  piazza  —  it  was  just  this 
hour  —  and  saw  the  sunrise  on  the  sea.  Your  fa- 
ther was  better,  and  we  could  leave  him  with  the 
nurse.  Her  name  was  something  colored  —  Black ; 
Miss  Black.  You  sent  Kathleen  to  bring  me  sand- 
wiches because  I  had  watched  all  night.  You  had 
on  that  long  gray  cloak  —  it  had  pink  about  it  — 
over  your  white  gown ;  it  was  edged  with  some  sort 
of  fluttering  fur  —  white;  it  floated  with  the  mo- 
tion of  your  breath.  I  don't  think  you  ever  had 
seen  a  summer  sunrise  before.  The  color  was  upon 
your  face.  You  looked  ...  so  beautiful  to  me.  I 
thouo;ht:  a  man  mi^ht  give  his  life  to  win  her. 
I  won  you,  and  I  ruined  mine  and  yours. 

"  I  never,  to  this  day,  have  understood  how  you 
came  to  capsize  ;  you  're  such  a  clever  sailor.  How 
Clyde  pulled  you  through  the  surf  and  fought  me 

3i9 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

off !  I  put  you  in  my  buggy,  dripping  wet.  In  my 
office,  afterwards,  you  wore  Nannie's  dress — gray, 
with  white  above.  And  I  told  you — you  remem- 
ber what.  '  I  am  in  the  undertow,'  you  said.  '  Let 
me  drown.' 

"  At  sunset  you  met  me  on  your  father's  lawn. 
You  still  wore  Nannie's  dress,  half  gray,  half  white. 
Do  you  remember  what  you  said  about  it  ?  Shall 
I  tell  you  ?  No  ?   I  thought  you  would  remember. 

"  Clyde  wore  a  white  ribbon  on  our  wedding 
day.  You  leaned  out  from  the  carriage,  you  leaned 
away  from  me,  to  look  back  at  Clyde.  On  the  cars 
you  talked  of  all  sorts  of  common  things,  as  if  you 
had  met  me  on  an  accidental  journey.  You  told 
me  Kathleen  was  going  to  marry  a  bellboy  from 
the  hotel.  At  Dipdown  you  did  not  like  the  moun- 
tains. You  wanted  to  go  home.  You  felt  happier 
when  you  saw  I  had  the  cottage  ready  for  you. 
What  big,  beautiful  mountain  fires  those  were! 
Don't  you  remember  the  roses  ?  .  .  .  I  knelt  to  you, 
Cara,  I  knelt  at  your  feet.  I  was  n't  a  praying  fel- 
low, but  I  prayed.  You  could  n't  know  that.  I  said, 
1  Thou  God!  Make  me  fit  to  take  her  to  my  life.' " 

Cara,  in  his  arms,  had  ceased  to  tremble,  she 
had  ceased  to  weep.  She  lay  quite  still,  and  gently 
she  put  up  her  hand,  and  stroked  his  wet,  dis- 
figured cheek. 

They  spoke  of  many  things,  although  it  was 
320 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

chiefly  he  who  talked  and  she  who  listened,  for  a 
time.  He  reminded  her  of  matters  that  she  remem- 
bered, and  of  some  that  she  had  forgotten  till  he 
spoke  of  them.  He  recalled  little  scenes  between 
them,  trifles,  the  friction  or  the  harmony  of  mar- 
ried life  —  what  happened  on  such  a  day,  and  what 
on  such  another.  They  spoke  of  graver  things, 
incidents  and  episodes,  tenderness  and  coldness, 
records  in  the  journal  of  their  hapless  marriage. 

He  would  say,  "  Do  you  remember  that  ?  Have 
you  forgotten  this  ? "  And  she  could  not  gainsay 
him.  They  recalled  memories  precious  and  holy, 
known  only  to  themselves.  They  spoke  of  the 
sacredness  of  marriage,  of  the  rapturous  hope  with 
which  they  had  entered  upon  it,  and  the  despair 
into  which  it  had  betrayed  them;  of  the  ever- 
living  power  of  the  sacred  bond  which  they  felt  so 
strangely  and  so  strongly  holding  them  together, 
after  all.  They  spoke  of  love;  of  its  higher  nature, 
and  its  other,  and  of  the  kind  of  love  remaining 
possible  to  them,  after  their  tragic  experiment  at 
it;  a  something  bare  of  all  illusion  and  timorous 
of  joyous  promises,  a  quiet  confidence  tried  as  by 
the  fire  of  life,  and  not  afraid  of  it  because  they 
had  known  the  worst  that  it  could  do  to  them. 
They  spoke  of  the  love  that  seeketh  not  itself;  the 
sacrificial  love,  the  only  kind  that  lives  in  the 
dying  of  all  the  substitutes  that  mock  the  name. 

321 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO    PART 

Then  Cara  spoke  —  so  gently,  so  humbly,  that 
it  was  difficult  for  him  to  follow  the  sweet  impulse 
of  her  heart,  so  long  unknown  to  him  —  about  the 
twice-told  love  that  she  had  cherished  for  the  man ; 
he  who  had  won  her  first,  and  then  again ;  he  to 
whom  she  brought  the  love  of  wife  and  widow 
too,  and  laid  both  with  a  womanly  fervor  at  his 
sad  feet. 

11  Oh,  you  love  like  a  goddess ! "  he  would  have 
cried.  "  And  forgive  like  a  spirit."  But  the  words 
failed  upon  his  lips,  and  all  he  could  say  was 
"Cara!  Cara!  Cara!" 

Now,  while  they  sat  so,  in  the  broadening, 
brightening  day,  in  the  silent  house,  whispering 
and  breathing  cheek  to  cheek,  the  unlocked  door 
turned  inward  softly,  and  the  preacher  stood  upon 
the  threshold.  His  luminous  eyes  had  their  priest's 
and  prophet's  look.  His  hands,  stretched  out  be- 
fore him,  uttered  the  benediction  of  the  soul  that 
forgets  itself  in  the  blessedness  of  another. 

Cara  slipped  to  her  feet,  and  advanced  to  meet 
him.  Dane  followed,  not  timidly,  but  with  his  gray 
head  lifted.  His  marred  face  was  so  irradiate  that 
it  was  the  high  light  of  the  room. 

"  Cousin  Sterling,"  said  Cara,  in  a  ringing  voice, 
"  please  go  and  tell  Kathleen,  —  and  Nannie.  Tell 
everybody,  —  all  the  world.  Explain  it  if  you  can. 

322 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

But  if  you  can't,  it  does  not  matter.  I  don't  mind 
any  of  those  —  little  things." 

"  I  can  protect  you,  I  think,"  said  Sterling  Hart. 
"  At  any  rate,  I  can  try.  Have  you  put  all  your  evi- 
dence before  her  ? "  he  demanded,  wheeling  upon 
the  man. 

"  Ask  her,"  said  Dane. 

But  the  preacher  turned  his  face  away. 

11  God  hath  joined  you  together,"  he  answered 
brokenly.  "  Who  shall  put  you  asunder?  Cousin 
Cara,  ...  if  you  are  happy  ...  I  shall  stand 
between  you  and  all  the  world." 

He  raised  himself  to  his  commanding  height, 
with  his  lofty,  upward  motion  of  the  chin. 

Now  while  the  three  stood  there,  something 
puzzled  as  to  their  next  word,  and  not  without 
embarrassment,  the  child  waked  and  crooned  in 
a  pretty  singsong  from  the  room  above :  — 

"Mum  —  mumma?  Pup  —  puppa?  Mum  — 
ma?"  Cara  started  and  stirred.  As  she  ran  up 
the  stairs,  the  two  men  heard  her  calling  all  the 
way:  — 

"  Mother  is  coming  to  her  precious  one.  Joy ! 
Joy  !  " 

The  collie  heard  the  foreign  word ;  he  came  in 
and  seriously  scanned  the  faces  of  the  superior 
beings,  who  regarded  him  with  unusual  respect 
and   emotion.    In    the    storming  of   the  human 

323 


THOUGH   LIFE   US   DO   PART 

drama,  who  had  paused  to  recognize  its  dumb 
unconscious  hero? 

But  the  dog  retreated  haughtily  from  them,  and 
went  with  splendid  and  confident  motions  up  the 
stairs.  Dane  had  taken  a  step  forward,  but  fell 
back. 

"  After  you,  Clyde,"  he  said,  with  his  whimsical 
smile. 

The  morning  moved  into  the  summer  day.  The 
tide  was  racing  in.  The  surf  leaped  through  the 
great  chasm,  and  spoke  in  a  tongue  that  no  man 
understood.  Only  one  tried  to  translate  it,  and 
he  sat  alone  upon  the  cliff's  edge,  and  studied  — 
after  all  his  experience  and  his  wisdom,  his  power, 
and  purity  of  heart,  and  effacement  of  self — the 
grammar  of  life.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  had 
gone  back  to  the  elements  of  existence,  to  the 
difficult,  primitive  lessons  of  a  man's  soul.  The 
preacher  watched  the  tide  come  in,  and  surge  upon 
the  old,  eternal  barriers  of  the  granite ;  madly  for 
the  moment,  according  to  the  nature  of  tides. 
"  Presently,"  he  thought,  "  it  will  ebb." 
He  stayed  and  watched  the  pit  of  foam  until  it 
slipped,  seething  down.  Then  he  lifted  his  eyes  to 
the  sea-line,  where  the  sky  met  it. 


CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
U    .    S    .    A 


THE  EVASION 


By  EUGENIA  BROOKS  FROTHINGHAM 

Author  of  "  The  Turn  of  the  Road." 

"  The  latest  human  products  of  a  Puritan  heritage  and 
a  Boston  environment  are  portrayed  in  this  novel  with 
much  the  same  sort  of  artistic  realism  that  Mrs. 
Humphry  Ward  uses  in  her  chosen  field  of  London 
and  English  life."  —  Boston  Globe. 
"This  novel  has  distinction,  social,  artistic  and  moral. 
...  Its  social  distinction  is  truly  typical  of  Boston 
society.  .  .  .  Well-planned  and  constructed,  it  is  yet 
never  heavy.  .  .  .  The  moral  atmosphere  of  the  book 
is  clear  and  bracing."  — New  York  Mail. 
"  The  Evasion  reflects  Boston  as  accurately  as  New- 
York  was  mirrored  in  '  The  House  of  Mirth.'  "  — 

Chicago  Evening  Post. 
"  A  fine  story,  showing  vivid  ability  and  power.  Every 
page  is  absorbing."  —  Chicago  Record-Herald. 


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THE  OPENED  SHUTTERS 


By  CLARA  LOUISE  BURNHAM 


"An  always  interesting,  frequently  amusing,  ever 
delightful  love  story.  A  novel  of  power,  one  that  will 
be  widely  read,  for  it  is  the  best  that  this  distinguished 
author  has  yet  written."  Boston  Budget. 

"  A  wholesome  picture  of  normal,  wholesome  lives ; 
full  of  human  nature,  sparkling  with  humor,  and  filled 
with  clever  portrayals  of  character  ...  as  good  work 
as  Mrs.  Burnham  has  ever  done."        Brooklyn  Eagle. 

"  The  love  story  of  Sylvia  and  her  rescuer  is  a  very 
beautiful  one."  Chicago  Journal. 

"  Mrs.  Burnham  has  written  the  book  in  her  hap- 
piest vein.  It  is  brimming  with  dry  humor  and  amus- 
ing characterization."         Lewiston  Evening  Journal. 

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LD  21-100wi-l,,54(1887sl6)476 


£22131 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


